Waiting is the Hardest Part
by Enlee
Summary: Cuddy is going out of town and House doesn't like it....HouseCuddy. Chapter 60 is now up. The Last Chapter. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: A continuation/sequel of sorts to "Stay or Leave", taking place several weeks later._

_I hope you all enjoy it!_

_Reviews are like crack cocaine to me. -hint hint-_

* * *

"Tell them you're busy." 

"I can't, Greg," Cuddy said, carefully folding a blouse.

"Tell them you're sick."

"I'm _not_ sick."

"You're a doctor, Lisa, surely you can think of something," House pressed on. "You can say you have malaria or SARS or a nasty case of the Ebola virus. That always does the trick."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and said, "Greg, you can sit there and whine six ways to Sunday. I'm still going."

An open suitcase lay on top of her bed. Next to it sat House, watching her pack. He glanced inside and saw everything was neat and perfect. Just like her files, just like her desk. Everything was in its place. Her blouses were folded so flat and square the corners looked sharp enough to draw blood.

"It's just a wedding," he grumbled, "hardly a matter of life and death. Well, maybe it means death for the groom..."

"You must have been a riot at Wilson's weddings."

"Wilson...," chuckled House, "At the reception for his first wedding a three hundred pound bridesmaid tried to drag me upstairs to join her in the Jacuzzi. I couldn't make to his second wedding because I had the flu so I sent an espresso machine and my regards. The espresso machine wound up in Argentina and the bride got my regards in the divorce settlement. At his third wedding I made a toast to the newlyweds, called Julie by the wrong name, I don't think she's really liked me ever since."

He eyed the suitcase again, noting the amount of clothing that was being stuffed into it. Enough clothes for nearly a week.

Irritated, he slumped back onto the bed.

"Why does this cousin of yours insist on dragging you hundreds of miles to this event?"

"I'm hardly being dragged anywhere," Cuddy sighed, delicately packing her blue dress for the wedding. "I agreed to this weeks ago, and most people find it easier to get married in the city they actually live in."

"Des Plains isn't a city, it's a speck on a map," said House, sitting back up. "Where's the honeymoon, Dubuque?"

Ignoring the doctor's sarcasm, Cuddy answered, "Hawaii."

"More specks with volcanoes and palm trees." He raised an eyebrow at his lover. "Do you really have to be gone for so long?"

Looking House in the eye, Cuddy could see he was indeed a bit sad that she was going to be out of state for five days. They had grown closer during the last few weeks, but apparently the nagging fear that she would just up and leave him was still hanging onto a ledge in the back of his mind.

"I haven't seen my cousin or aunt and uncle in nearly two years," she said, checking the suitcase and making sure everything was there and in place. "I promised them I would be there for her special day, and I promised my aunt and uncle that I would spend some time with them."

House wondered what Aunt and Uncle would think of their darling niece's boyfriend and literally bit his tongue to keep from voicing the thought out loud.

"And I always try to keep my promises," she reminded him.

Sighing, he rested his chin on the handle of his cane. "I can't argue with that."

"Greg, it's only five days."

"I know."

"I'm not going to the moon or anything."

"You're not," His blue-eyed gaze recaptured hers. "Des Plains is more like the one of the outer rings of hell. If you were going to Fargo then it might be the other side of hell. Or maybe Fargo counts as hell frozen over."

One last check of the suitcase.

"It's still early," she said with a coy smile.

"Is it?" After making an overdone show of looking at his watch, House replied, "Why Dr. Cuddy,  
you're absolutely right."

"My plane doesn't leave until tomorrow morning."

"That's very interesting. How are we going to kill all this time between now and tomorrow morning?"

"How about some food first. I'm starving. Is pizza okay with you?"

"No fish or I'm throwing you and your suitcase in the car and driving you to the airport right now."

House glimpsed into the suitcase and saw something black and one hundred percent cotton. He would have bet everything he owned it had a Jack Daniels logo on it.


	2. Chapter 2

Gregory House was still moody, still arrogant, still a misanthrope and still addicted to Vicodin. 

But several things had changed about him. Very subtle changes, but still changes nonetheless, and Cuddy believed she knew why.

He wasn't thinking about Stacy.

Ever since he announced the 'separation' and set himself free of the one thing that consumed him more than the constant pain, his depression and anger had leveled off. Cuddy couldn't remember the last time he spoke her name. He didn't go through an entire bottle of scotch in two days anymore.

Insomnia still had a grip on him, but that wasn't about Stacy. Sometimes insomnia was just insomnia.

The rough edges of Greg House had softened a bit. If Cuddy was the only one who could see that, it was fine and dandy. At least somebody could.

No word on the 'divorce' yet. She didn't ask. He'd tell her when it went through.

* * *

He was in his usual spot on the couch, spinning his cane in lazy circles. 

"Stop pouting," Cuddy called from the kitchen.

"I'm not," he grumbled, then put his feet on the table just to needle her.

"You're pouting."

"I'm _not_."

Some things never change.

Reappearing, she said, "You're being childish." In each hand was a steaming mug of coffee.

"No," House answered as he took a mug, then scowled as she kicked his feet to the floor. "I'm being separated from one person who gives a damn."

"What about Wilson?"

"I'm not sleeping in his bed. He's still married."

"Greg, you weren't invited and you wouldn't go if you were."

"Is that supposed to make it all better?" His fear of abandonment was making another grand appearance. "Why couldn't this cousin of yours just elope to Vegas?"

"Never in a million years," his lover chuckled. "She's had her wedding colors picked out since she was ten years old."

"Hmph...one of those...," House muttered, his voice turning into a low growl. "She's going to eat her husband alive. Watch out, Hawaii."

"She's a librarian and her husband-to-be is a teacher."

"It's always the quiet ones you have to worry about."

"Your coffee's getting cold," she pointed out, trying to change the subject.

"Vegas, baby...," he grunted and chugged half the mug.

She didn't have to ask but did anyway. "Are you staying over tonight?"

"Damn right I am. I'm going to give you a reason to miss me in Des Plains."

* * *

The alarm wasn't set to go off for another half hour. She let House sleep, never disturbing what little sleep he got unless she absolutely had to. 

In the dull morning light filtering in through the curtains Lisa Cuddy could see the jagged scar on Gregory House's right thigh and the concave shape where a muscle used to be.

He still didn't like her seeing it and was always pulling and tugging at the blankets to keep it covered up. She had given up trying to convince him that it didn't bother her. There were more important things to worry about.

The scar was a good eight inches long, running down the center of his thigh. It was crooked and ugly. She could care less.

And yet she had put it there.

For reasons Cuddy couldn't possibly fathom he had never mentioned that fact.

If he wasn't going to bring it up then neither was she, and kicked the thought out of her head.

Destination Des Plains was only a few hours away. She looked at her sleeping lover, for the moment not agitated at the thought of her leaving, and carefully brushed away some hair from his closed eyes. His abandonment issues had probably been with him for nearly as long as the scar on his leg, just as deep and twice as jagged. There was no need to say who put it there. It was something that couldn't be given back in the 'divorce'.

Stacy was gone, yet still there. She was still in his life and he didn't seem to realize it.

He was going to have to confront this. He was going to have to think about Stacy again.

Really? Did he have to? Would it be worth it if he did?

She lightly tugged at the sheet, covering his scar.

Fifteen more minutes. She let him sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Cuddy was right, of course. There were still some issues to deal with. His load of Stacy baggage had been reduced by nearly half, but now there was a hidden box somewhere, and holding on to it meant holding on to a part of Stacy . He had worked hard to get this far and wasn't going to quit over one box. But he wasn't really sure if he was ready to deal with it yet.

Damn it all to hell.

* * *

"Dr. House."

From the tone of Foreman's voice House knew something was up. Chase was with him. The older doctor didn't answer, making them wait as he took his sweet time washing and drying his hands.

"How's the patient?" House asked, knowing full well that was hardly the reason the two doctors had cornered him in the bathroom.

"Lupus, just like we thought," said Chase.

"The rash showed up," House said. It wasn't a question. "Butterfly rashes never lie, unlike people. But I'm sure that earthshattering news could have waited another five minutes."

"How's Dr. Cuddy?" Foreman asked, staring daggers.

"Dr. Cuddy is just fine," House answered quietly, not missing a beat. "You can ask her yourself when she gets back. I'm sure she'll be touched by your sudden concern. But you're not here about that."

"Your bike was parked in her driveway last night," said Chase.

"So? Was I breaking curfew, Dr. Chase? I was helping her pack."

"You were helping her pack at _midnight_?" Chase asked incredulously.

House knew exactly what they were thinking and what they wanted to accuse him of. He should have angry and defensive, but wasn't. The whole situation was hilarious to him because he had absolutely nothing to hide and nothing to be ashamed of. The two younger doctors were going to fall flat on their faces and House wouldn't miss it for a lifetime supply of extra-strength Vicodin.

It was something to get his mind off the new Stacy situation for a while.

"Sure. You know how women are. They have to pack everything." House narrowed his eyes at the blonde doctor. "What were _you_ doing at Cuddy's house at midnight, Dr. Chase?"

"I was taking a detour," Chase answered, and was most likely telling the truth since a whole slew of road construction had the traffic snarled everywhere. "And I've seen your bike there on a few other nights."

"I've been there before," House replied in a pleasant voice. Set the trap, watch them fall in. "Now are you going to tell me what this has to do with anything or am I going to have to say it for you?" He leaned back on the wall and watched them squirm. "You think I'm taking advantage of her and this whole situation somehow, don't you boys?" His blue eyes shifted from doctor to doctor. "Two against a cripple. That's very clever, but the next time you try to ambush me you better remember who you're dealing with."

Foreman said, "You're not denying it."

"I'm not denying that I'm sleeping with her."

"You have something on her. She can't stand you. Why else would she let you in her home?" Foreman asked.

"Why is what I do on my own time any of your business, Dr. Foreman?" House asked, watching the younger doctors dig themselves in deeper and deeper. "Or are you just jealous because I'm getting some and you're not?"

"You're still not denying it."

"You're still jealous that I'm getting some. And there's nothing to deny. Am I not allowed a private life for some reason or am I supposed to go home and hang upside down in the closet all night?"

"I have to agree. Dr. Cuddy hates your guts," Chase spoke up. "She'd never let you in her front door without a good reason."

"That shows how much you know," the older doctor snickered. He and Cuddy didn't exactly advertise their current relationship on a billboard and always kept it cool and professional at the hospital. Foreman and Chase must not have noticed anything different since they seemed to truly believe what they were saying. "Now tell me, Chase, the time you slept with Cameron while she was high on meth, was that taking advantage of her? Oh, that's right, it doesn't count because she hardly remembers and the condom didn't break." As the blonde doctor turned every shade of pink and red, House added, "The second you decided to pry into my sex life yours became fair game."

"And _you_," the older doctor continued, turning to Foreman, "tell me, where are all the fruits of my labor?"

"What?" Foreman frowned.

"Well, Dr. Genius, if I'm taking advantage of poor innocent Dr. Cuddy, who isn't Dean of Medicine because she's so damned stupid and helpless, what do I have to show for it? If I'm taking such advantage of her surely I'm getting more out of it than getting laid and getting laid _well_, right? I mean there's my huge, new cushy office, the big fat raise, the supermodels to replace you two and Cameron...oh wait, I have none of those things. In fact I dare either of you to name one single solitary change around here that has been exclusively for my benefit. Foreman? Chase? First one to answer gets to unload his clinic hours on me for a month. So, fire away."

Silence except for one stubborn faucet that steadily dripped. House could almost hear the gears turning in their heads.

Two minutes passed.

"No answers because there are no answers." House said, his voice sounding unusually loud after the long silent break. "Next time, doctors, make sure the damsel is actually in distress before riding to the rescue. And next time you accuse me of _anything_ you better have some major fucking proof to back it up. For the record, I started it and Cuddy finished it, if you get my meaning."

"No way. It can't be true. It _can't_. Cuddy can't stand to be the same room with you." Foreman said.

"Her sheets are a lovely pale yellow. I get to see them _a lot_."

"I just can't believe it," Chase said, slackjawed. "You and Cuddy..."

"Oh, believe it," House smirked. "I'm so fucking irresistible."

More silence as the two younger doctors tried to process what they couldn't conceive to be the case, but it was, and how the hell they got it so wrong.

"So what happens now?" Foreman said, bracing for the worst.

"You're waiting for me to kick your sorry asses to the curb. That's what I should do," House said. "But watching the two of you make complete jackasses out of yourselves, especially when you were so sure and so goddamned _sincere_...that's the kind of entertainment money can't buy. It's just so funny--taking advantage of Dr. Cuddy, what the hell where you thinking? But just remember the two of you have been promoted to the top of my shit-list. Split my clinic hours for a month and we'll call it even. If you ever try to pull a stunt like this on me again you better have more than a few errant motorcycle sightings for backup or you _will_ find your sorry asses on the curb faster than you can say 'proof'".

"It was just...my God," Chase stuttered. "You and Dr. Cuddy..."

"Your new clinic hours start today, Chase, so get in there because you're late," said House. "You guys are hilarious. Seriously, this has made my week. Now if you will excuse me I'm going to send an email to Cuddy telling her each and every detail about this little impromptu get-together. Oh man...she's going to get a kick out of this..."


	4. Chapter 4

"This is my private email. _Do you mind?_" House scowled and turned the laptop away from prying eyes.

"Must be from your better half," Wilson remarked dryly. "I can wait." He plopped in a chair while soft clicking from the keyboard skimmed along the office. "Why don't I have your private email address?"

"What do _you_ need it for, so you can send me the latest Garfield comic strip and Paris Hilton gossip?"

"Well, that too...," the younger doctor smirked. "Let me guess, your email has the word 'Vicodin'  
in it somewhere."

"You're funny, Jimmy. I'm sure you keep the marriage counselor in stitches."

"I just referred to Cuddy as your better half and you didn't even flinch."

His fingers paused over the keyboard, House spared his friend a quick glimpse.

"Let me finish typing this, Jimmy, and maybe I'll throw in a flinch or a jolt. Then if I'm feeling really frisky I'll sprawl across the carpet and have a grand mal seizure just for you."

The typing resumed without comment. One minute later House turned the computer back around. It showed the local news page.

"Here, you can look now," the diagnostician sighed, "but I've decided to skip the seizure."

"So you're not disagreeing with me about the better half?"

"Which answer will make you shut up about it?"

"Okay, I see..." the oncologist grinned. "She's been gone half a day and you're already coming unglued. I have my answer. I'll shut up now."

* * *

"Is it your turn now, Cameron?" House raised his eyebrows as the young woman stepped into his office. "See the truth is Dr. Cuddy is chained up in my basement...wait, I don't have a basement. Okay, she's locked in my attic...but I don't have an attic, either." 

Cameron stopped at his desk, her impassive gaze unbroken.

"Did you see my bike in Cuddy's driveway?"

"Twice."

"And you never mentioned it. I see. Lesson learned, albeit the hard way, right?" he said apathetically. "Chase and Foreman found that out today. You might want to console them some more."

The young doctor shifted from foot to foot. "Chase told me what you said, about what happened between him and me."

"Your darling Chase asked for it, and if he does it again I'll be right there to throw that colossal blunder right back in his face without a second thought, no matter how good his intentions are."

"Or mine," she said in a dejected voice.

"Or yours," said House. "I play rough, remember? However, what happened that night is between you and him and it shouldn't have be thrown in anybody's face anymore."

"It shouldn't have to begin with."

"I know," he responded, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. "Now if Chase can keep his yap shut our lives will be a whole lot easier. So tell me what you want, and unless _you_ would like an extra months worth of clinic hours dumped on your schedule I suggest you think about what you're going to say very carefully."

"Dr. Cuddy..." Cameron began, chewing her lower lip as she measured each word. "She's who you were talking about a few weeks ago when we had that...argument. When you said you were in love with someone else."

The older doctor answered with a short and deliberate "Yes."

"I thought you were lying, about being in love with someone I mean," she confessed. Suddenly nervous, Cameron fumbled with her white labcoat. "I thought you were saying that to shut me up."

"Then you saw my bike."

"And I heard Foreman and Chase talk about seeing it too. But still, I wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth. You told them so I didn't think you'd mind..."

House tilted his head. "I don't. So you've heard it now. Are you happy?"

"No."

"I answer your questions but you're never happy with answers. You're very hard to please, Dr. Cameron."

"So are you," she shot back.

"My, we have so much in common," he deadpanned. "It's too bad we never hooked up."

She eyed the older doctor in a stony lull.

"Shouldn't you be calling me a 'bastard' and making a dramatic exit?"

"No, not this time," she said quietly.

"That's nice to hear. You should call me something besides 'bastard'. It's getting a little redundant."

"You really love her." Cameron wasn't moving until she heard his answer.

"Yes I do," House told her without blinking. "There's a few things Dr. Cuddy understands that you don't. Cuddy has known me for a long time. She wasn't wearing blinders when she got involved and was able to accept me, really accept me with all my scars, flaws, and excess baggage without getting in over her head. That's not you. When it comes to me the glass isn't half full. You just can't seem to take off your rose-colored glasses and see that I'm not your pet project."

"You're wrong." Her voice was almost a whisper. "You're wrong, Dr. House."

"I very well may be, Dr. Cameron, but right now I can safely say you don't have a snowballs chance in hell of proving it."


	5. Chapter 5

From: Greg House  
Sent: Thursday, March 2, 2006 4:36 AM  
To: Lisa Cuddy  
Subject: I Hate Des Plains 

Guess who.

So here I am pacing the kitchen at four in the morning when it suddenly occurs to me that whoever coined the phrase "don't know what you got until it's gone" was actually on to something. After waking up from a nice dream about you, I looked over and came to the sudden conclusion that my bed was _too big_ and _too empty_. Later I'm going to drink my coffee and eat my breakfast while staring at the _empty chair_ across from my seat at the table. Do you know why? Because I'm here _all by myself_. Do I really have to endure four more days of this?

I did some checking and there are at least three flights available today in case you need to leave early for any reason.

If I hear one word about this cousin suddenly turning around and getting a divorce or an annulment I just might snap, and believe me, I won't be held accountable for my actions.

On the plus side it was fun watching Chase and Foreman try to avoid me as much as possible, then slink out the door with their tails between their legs. Fifty bucks says it will be at least two weeks before they can look me in the eye again. Cameron came asking about it, among other things, so I set her straight. Don't be surprised if she suddenly hates your guts.

Des Plains. It's not a real town. Some people got tired of following the tumbleweeds and threw a few houses together.

Next time tell your cousin to get her hitch up her horse and buggy and get her ass to New Jersey if she wants to see you so bad.

I thought about what you said, about this abandonment thing, and I don't know what, if anything, I can do about it right now. I need some time to think it over and see what my options are. It's been with me this long, it can wait a little while longer.

Okay Partypants, I think I've rambled on long enough.

Don't forget there are some earlier flights.

Love you,

Greg

* * *

From: Lisa Cuddy  
Sent: Thursday, March 2, 2006 7:21 AM  
To: Greg House  
Subject: Re: I Hate Des Plains 

Hey Greg, do you want some _cheese_ with your _whine_?

The ceremony isn't until this afternoon but I better hurry and reply before things start to get crazy and the bride starts to hyperventilate.

FYI, Des Plains is a very nice place. Besides electricity and indoor plumbing there are museums, a theater guild, and the Illinois Orchid Society.

I know you're just thrilled to death with all that information so I'll just quit while I'm ahead.

You've been through some changes and made some big decisions in the last few weeks. Don't think I'm rushing you about this one. Take all the time you need. I know this can't be easy.

Thank you for checking the flight schedule. Did you check the bus and train schedules too?

Just so you know, my cousin drives a Mustang.

Gotta go. I'll try to call or email tonight, but I can't make any promises. Try not to go ballistic.

I love you.

Lisa


	6. Chapter 6

"Those are my chips," Wilson said.

"Not anymore," House replied thickly as he sat opposite his oncologist friend.

"You know, the register is fifty feet away. You can walk over there and get your own."

"So can you." The older doctor made an over-dramatic show of ripping open the bag.

"Keep it. My treat," Wilson sighed as he pulled the lunch tray closer. "Well, you're in a halfway decent mood. I take it a certain someone has been in touch."

House managed a garbled "Mmmm hhmmm" between chips.

"By email?"

"Yup."

"Am I ever going to get your private email address?"

"No," said House, and tossed a chip at the younger doctor. He knew Wilson only wanted the email address just to have it, but didn't bother to say anything, just sat back and waited to see what his friend was willing to do to get it.

"Why not?"

"It's reserved for people who sleep with me."

"So...you'll let me have your email address if I sleep with you."

"I'll think about it," House smirked, brushing crumbs from his lap. "Are you man enough?"

"Are _you_?" Wilson narrowed his brown eyes.

"I don't have to answer that."

"Neither do I."

"You have to be this tall to ride this ride, Dr. Wilson."

"I'm up to the challenge."

"And I'm calling your bluff." House didn't flinch.

The younger doctor laughed. "You win."

"Damn right." Chin in hand, House asked, "Because you're not tall enough or because you're not man enough?"

As Wilson tried to come up with a semi-dignified response he noticed his friend's eyes fix on the cafeteria entrance.

"Freeze warning tonight," House muttered, barely loud enough for Wilson to hear.

The oncologist turned to see Cameron in line, piling fruit and other nauseatingly healthy things on her tray. She knew House was there but kept her back to him, as if he cared. After paying, she brushed by their table, not sparing a glance. Wilson was surprised snowflakes didn't trail in her wake.

"_Bbbrrrrrrrr_," the younger doctor commented after Cameron sat at a table out of his line of sight.  
"What's with her?"

"I told her the truth and she didn't like it." House looked bored.

"Wow, what did you say? She really hates you right now."

"She'll get over it."

"What if she doesn't?"

"Then she doesn't. I'm not going to lose any sleep over it." The diagnostician lazily tossed the crumpled chip bag on the tray.

Wilson crushed his empty milk container. "Your people skills are something to behold."

"If I spent all my time worrying about what other people thought of me, I'd never get anything done," House remarked dryly. "And if I spent all my time drooling over every cute girl with a nice ass I'd never get anything done then, either. She's angry because I don't want to play boyfriend and girlfriend. So what am I supposed to do, go over there, hold her hand and _lie_?"

"No yet," Wilson answered. "You'd probably get frostbite."

* * *

House puttered away the rest of the night, munching microwave pizza and watching an almost interesting documentary about the zoo that is called the L.A. Coroners Office. But food and television could only be distracting for so long. 

Three more days.

Three days _too long_.

What if she doesn't come back...

Stop thinking like that! Or maybe you didn't read her last email, the one she signed off with 'I love you'. How soon we forget, idiot.

_No, I didn't forget_.

_Try not to go ballastic_.

Easier said than done, Lisa. You're not the one with a major issues about the one you love leaving you.

Okay, it's almost midnight. No more thinking, no more cardboard pizza, no more climbing the walls. Get some sleep.

One last check. Any new emails?

One new message.

House smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

From: Lisa Cuddy  
Sent: Saturday, March 4, 2006 12:04 AM  
To: Greg House  
Subject: The Wedding and the Aftermath 

I hope I'm sober enough to write something coherent.

All's well that ends well. The good news is that the wedding went off with only a few minor glitches–the veil was misplaced, the flower girl had a bad case of stage fright, etc. The wedding dress was gorgeous. She says it only cost $1200, but just between you and me that's a bald-faced lie. That thing didn't cost a penny under three grand.

Okay, I won't bore you to death with anymore details unless you really want to know who the best man was caught with in the backseat of the Cadillac.

The bad news–I drank _wwaaayyy _too much champagne and I just know I'm going to pay for it tomorrow. But I'll be damned if that wasn't the best champagne I ever drank in my life. There must have been 100 bottles of that stuff laying around, straight from France.

Sorry to cut this short but I'm really really tired and the room is starting to spin.

BTW, I'm wearing your shirt because I know how much you like that.

I love you,

Lisa

* * *

From: Greg House  
Sent: Saturday, March 4, 2006 12:19 AM  
To: Lisa Cuddy  
Subject: Re: The Wedding and the Aftermath and I don't care 

So you're getting plastered on champagne while I'm here all alone feasting on stale pizza and drinking flat beer. Nice.

But the vision of you in my shirt almost makes up for it.

You're missing all the fun over there in that No Man's Land some people call Des Plains. Chase and Foreman still won't look at me. My God, this is _fun! _I wonder how much longer I can drag out their torture. If I can squeeze three weeks out of this I will be able to honestly say it was worth every second.

On the other hand, Cameron has turned into a first-class ice queen. Maybe she'll thaw out a little but if you see icicles in the operating rooms you'll know where they came from.

Get some sleep you party animal. Take it easy on the damned champagne. You swiped a few bottles, didn't you?

Don't forget there's still a chance to catch an early flight. Or a bus. Or a train.

Love you,

Greg

* * *

House popped a Vicodin, climbed into bed and burrowed under the heavy comforter, trying to find some warmth against the chilly March night. His leg was hurting. No sleep until the Vicodin kicked in.

_Three more days._

Christ, she's been gone for only two days and he _missed _her.

House kicked off another Stacy box.

It would be a lie to say the last few months hadn't been some of the better he had experienced in a long long time. After Stacy left House believed he could never be that close to another human being ever again. Was he ever wrong. His connection with Cuddy was undeniable, even if a few younger and misinformed doctors couldn't see it or didn't want to.

A vague memory came to him. After the four day bender, Cuddy was there, helping soothe the pain both physical and emotional. Waking up with her arms wrapped around him, feeling her warmth, feeling wanted again. Someone who didn't care that he was damaged goods. After all these years, someone who gave him more than enough reason to forget about Stacy forever.

Damn it, Stacy was still hanging on, a stone around his neck. He hated it, didn't want to think about her in this light. He could never find that nasty little box of fear on his own, it wasn't worth the effort to try. It was going to have to wait until Cuddy came back. She knew more about these things than he could ever aspire to, she hopefully had more than a little insight.

_Damn you, Stacy. Can't you just go away?_

House didn't want to think about Stacy or pain or fear anymore and threw them out the back door. They'd eventually find another way in but he wasn't going to stay awake all night brooding about it. The pain in his leg was winding down to a dull ache. Gregory House fell asleep, the image of Lisa Cuddy wearing his shirt played in his dreams.


	8. Chapter 8

"Does she feel the same way?" Cameron asked, having cornered House in his office again.

"Why don't you ask her yourself," House answered. "Cuddy is perfectly capable of answering your questions. If you don't mind I'd like to be there when she tells you it's none of your goddamned business."

"Cuddy isn't here so I'm asking you."

"And it's none of your goddamned business. Just what will it take to make you shut up about it, some holy water and a stake through the heart? A silver bullet?"

"You didn't answer my question." Cameron stood at his desk, as frosty as ever.

The older doctor put his feet up and matched her stony stare. "I'm not going to. You know, Dr. Cameron, every time you come in here with your little ice princess act and question the legitimacy of my feelings toward you and Dr. Cuddy, I have to say it makes me respect you less and less. You're not acting like a doctor, you're acting like a spoiled cheerleader who got dissed at the prom, and believe me, that's getting old real fast."

"If it bothers you so much why didn't you say anything before?"

"Because I'm saying it now. It's getting old, Cameron."

The young woman sat down, she obviously wasn't finished yet. "Why didn't you go to Des Plains with her?"

"None of your business."

"Are you going to marry her? Are you going to have kids?"

"None of your business."

"Does she feel the same way?"

"Ask Cuddy yourself," said House. "But she's not going to tell you what you want to hear, either."

"Fine. I will," Cameron shrugged. "I'd like to hear what she has to say about you."

"Be my guest," he told the immunologist, looking her up and down. "Why are you wearing green today, _Allison_, because you're _envious_?"

"I don't envy anyone," she frowned.

"Oh sorry, my mistake. What color goes with _jealousy_?"

"Don't patronize me." She resumed her stance in front of the desk.

"Stop acting like a brat and I won't have to patronize you," House said, his patience with the young woman starting to wane. "You're shooting to the top of my shitlist with a bullet, _Allison_. If you think I was kidding about emptying bedpans, you just try me."

"I'm not afraid of a little dirty work," Cameron smirked.

The diagnostician raised an eyebrow. "How noble of you. In fact, I'm so fucking bowled over by your honesty and nobility, I'm ready to jump you right here and now."

"What would Cuddy say about that?" Dull afternoon light glinted from her eyes.

House had to grin at her steely reserve. "Cuddy would say 'Cameron can't satisfy you the way I do,' and she'd be right."

"Are you so sure about that?"

"Yes," House said dryly, he was getting fed up with the Cameron's silly games. "With the way you've been coming in here and pissing me off lately, I wouldn't have you if you were oiled up and served on a silver platter."

"You son-of-a-bitch–"

"Still haven't learned that I play rough, huh, _Allison_?" The older doctor sneered, getting to his feet. "Now that I'm utterly and thoroughly sick of you and your attitude and your pathetic little mind games, it's time to lay down the law. From now on you are to come in here and shut your mouth and do your job. When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it. If you have a question about a patient or a diagnosis, feel free to ask. If you have a sick relative and need some time off, just say so. Now, if you come in here one more time and question me about my relationship with Cuddy, which for the last time, is _none of your fucking business_, I'm going to toss you and your cute little ass out the front door myself. One more word and you're gone. Do I make myself clear?"

"Very clear." Her cheeks were so red House almost expected to see them melt and drip all over his pens and desk blotter.

"I mean it, Cameron," House said solemnly, the seriousness of his threat oozed from every word. "You're a good doctor, too good to be caught up in this drama queen shit. Get over yourself, and fast. Now, don't you have a patient to check on?"

"Yes," Cameron said softly, the redness of her cheeks was slowly spreading down her neck.

"Great. Now get out my sight and check on your patient."

As he watched the immunologist turn into the hallway, House knew it wasn't over. In two and half days Cameron would be out front, waiting for Cuddy. His only regret was that he wouldn't have a front row seat for the show.


	9. Chapter 9

"How's Julie doing?" House asked as Wilson sat at the table with a dusty box.

"Julie's having dinner with her sister," the oncologist replied. "When they get together they turn into a couple of loud, obnoxious shrews and I'd rather not listen to that."

"Yikes, I guess I can't blame you." The older doctor shifted his attention to the box. "What is that?"

"A chess and checkers set from the bowels of your bookshelf. From the dust on it I'd say it hasn't been touched since the day you moved in."

"Good Lord," House smiled. "I forgot all about that thing. I got it for Christmas when I was fifteen."

Wilson brushed off some dust and triggered a sneeze attack. "Are all the pieces still in it?" he asked, and sneezed again.

"I don't know. I haven't touched it since the day I moved in."

The board came out smelling like an old book. "Well, there's sixty-four squares at least," the younger doctor observed with a final sneeze, and began rattling around the game pieces.

"Wow, you're a regular Bobby Fischer," House cracked.

"Thanks," Wilson replied thickly and set up the chess board. "Looks like you're missing six pawns, all the rooks and two of the bishops. Do you know where they are?"

The diagnostician snickered. "Oh, I remember now. In college I beat my roommate at a game and won a hundred bucks. He got pissed, grabbed a handful of pieces and flushed them down the toilet."

"Sore loser?"

"I won fair and square. You tell me."

"Why didn't you get another chess set, Greg?"

"I never got around to it."

"Not since college? What the hell have you been doing over the last twenty years?"

"I've been busy."

The remaining pawns and bishops went back into the box. "Looks like all the checkers are here. You up for a game"

"Checkers?" the older doctor snorted. "What is this, the third grade?"

"Well, you were _too busy_ to buy another chess set, so we have to use what's available." The red and black pieces went into separate piles. "You afraid you're going to lose?"

"I'm hardly afraid of you, Jimmy," House said, raising an eyebrow at his friend. "You're not exactly nightmare material."

"Look, Greg, you can stare at the ceiling for the rest of the night, counting the seconds until Cuddy's plane lands, or you can beat me at a silly little game and get out of your head for a while." Wilson sat and stared, wondering how successful he was at giving off the impression of not caring one way or the other.

House sighed, making it as overly dramatic as humanly possible. "Fine, get a couple of beers, would ya? I'm red."

As Wilson brought the beers to the table and hunted down the bottle opener he couldn't help but ask, "When is Cuddy's plane landing?"

"Fifty-eight hours and thirty-two minutes." House tried valiantly, and failed miserably, to sound nonchalant.

The younger doctor opened the drinks. "Word is getting around about you and Cuddy."

"Someday Lisa and I might actually care," the older doctor responded as he arranged the red checkers on the board.

"Is that why Cameron has suddenly turned stone cold?"

House glanced up. "I'd rather not talk about Cameron right now," he said, and pushed a red checker over to a blank square. "Well? Are you in or do you suddenly feel like playing 'Go Fish'?"

"Hold on, hold on." Wilson scrambled to set up his black checkers, then moved one over. "To tell you the truth I'm kind of surprised."

"What, that I'm playing checkers?" Another red checker started up the board.

"That too," Wilson said, pushing a black piece closer to House's red army. "Don't take this the wrong way, Greg, but I'm surprised you and Cuddy have lasted this long."

House pushed another red checker, then took a long pull from his beer. "Yeah, well, that makes two of us, Jimmy." He leveled his gaze at the oncologist. "You knew about us long before anyone else. What exactly tipped you off?"

Wilson said, "Well, all last summer I couldn't help but notice the way the two of you warmed up to each other, smiling at each other and what not. At first I thought maybe you and Cuddy called some kind of weird truce. You both seemed to be a bit happier. Then I noticed the way you started looking at her. But I wasn't about to stick my nose into it. Then just before Thanksgiving I was in Cuddy's office and saw a box of Godiva's on her desk. I said something about them and she said they were from a friend. Whatever...it wasn't any of my business." House quietly listened as the red and black pieces prepared for war. "Anyway, that same night I was here, remember, you just got _The Godfather_ special edition DVDs. I came in here and saw something sticking out of the trash can. It was a Godiva catalog. You got them for her on their website but now you're on their mailing list for eternity."

The older doctor grinned. "You're good, Wilson. You're being wasted as an oncologist. I should introduce you to Detective Goren."

"Maybe Goren can find your missing chess pieces." Wilson pushed a black checker to within striking distance of the red team. "Twenty dollars says I get kinged first."

"Make it fifty."

"You're on."

A red checker jumper over a black. "Well, Jimmy, I'll just have to use your fifty bucks to buy some nice Godiva's for Lisa."


	10. Chapter 10

Cuddy called his office phone and he nearly fell out of his chair. 

"Are you hanging in there okay?" she asked as static hissed in and out.

House regained his balance and propped his sneaker covered feet on the desk. "If you were here I wouldn't have to hang in there at all. Are you running up your relatives phone bills?"

"I forgot my cell phone charger. I'll pay them back."

"Sure, likely story," he said, trying not to grin like an idiot since any random moron could come waltzing in the door without warning. "Do they have cell phones in Des Plains or is it still some futuristic dream like running water and horseless carriages?"

"Your razor-sharp tongue hasn't lost it's edge," Cuddy said, laughing. "I can't decide if that's good or bad."

"It's good and you know it." House licked his lips.

"I guess you're right, Greg." She switched the phone to her other ear. "How's everything over there? Anything I should know about?"

"The hospital hasn't burned down, _yet_, so I guess there's really nothing much going on here."

"How about you? How are you doing?"

"You know how I'm doing, Lisa."

"No, I don't. Tell me."

"I miss you," he said quietly, leaning back so far his hair brushed against the windowsill.

"Really? How much?" Coyness in her voice, teasing him. She knew full well that if the roles were reversed he'd be doing the exact same thing.

"A lot," he replied.

"Just 'a lot'?"

"Too damned much."

"How much is 'too damned much'?"

"Enough to say that if you're ever invited to another cross-country wedding, just send a damned toaster and your regards," House answered, meaning every last word of it.

"Well, I can't promise that," she said. "But I can't attend every wedding I'm invited to either. So you sort of got your wish."

"_Hmph_," he grunted, though still smiling. "Lisa, tell me something."

"What?"

"Do you miss me?"

"Of course I do."

"How much?" he asked, bring his coyness level up to match hers.

"Enough to say I wish I could sit here all day and run this phone bill through the roof."

"I like the sound of that," House chuckled.

"And how about this--I'm wearing you're favorite shirt."

"Oh...God." House felt his heartbeat kick up a few notches. "Lisa, are we still on for tomorrow night?"

"You better believe it."

"Great." The idiotic grin returned. "Wear that shirt. I don't care if it's covered with mud or cat hair or whatever. Just wear the damn thing."

"You talked me into it, Dr. House. Now should I wear just the shirt or do you want something on underneath it?"

"Jesus...Lisa," he moaned, then movement caught his eye. Chase materialized at the door. "Damn it all to hell."

"What is it?"

"I have to go." Regret filled every word. An upright hand stopped Chase from coming in. "Send me an email?"

"You got it," Cuddy sighed, regret coming through from her end of the phone line. "I'll see you tomorrow. I love you."

"Love you, too." House hung up and waved in Chase.

* * *

The colors were always so vivid; the blues, the greens, red and gold just exploding everywhere. If nothing else, Gregory House always remembered the colors. During those too brief times he didn't have to look at the world through his weary and cynical eyes. The cane always followed, was always there in his hand, but the pain waited for the waking hours. That was fine, he didn't care. He figured that was the reason he was able to take notice of the rainbow swirling all around him to begin with. Who knows, maybe he was right. 

The sun was shining. He could feel the heat, the warmth beating down on his back. The sky was clear and perfect, the grass an endless emerald carpet. A slight breeze, it wasn't real, but he could feel it. He could feel it whisper through his hair and tug at his shirt. The doctor doesn't know why there's a warm summer breeze or why he always ended up in a bright and cheery garden with no rainy days. In the end it doesn't matter. After seven years it was a nice change to have something to look forward to when he closed his eyes at night.

Sometimes she was late but she was always there. Standing at his side, wearing the yellow and pink dress he likes so much, the one that existed only in this part of his mind. She takes his hand and he feels her smooth skin against his rough and calloused palm. Now she's smiling, looking up at him with those eyes that were bluer than any sky and deeper than any ocean. So vivid.

House woke up.

Outside it was still dark.

It always had to end. That was the only part he didn't like.


	11. Chapter 11

No television, no radio, no piano, no nothing. It was so quiet he could hear his watch tick. So quiet he could hear the dust settle.

House was on his sofa, sipping a glass of scotch, staring at nothing. She was on her way over, probably stuck in that outer circle of hell called New Jersey traffic. Finally, after five of the longest days of his life. All he could do now was wait for the knock at his door.

Another sip of scotch to calm his nerves after an endless, maddening day of enduring Wilson's relentless teasing, obnoxious patients, and Cameron's continued ice queen act. Fortunately she'd kept her yap shut and did what she was told, he could giver her points for that. At the very least it showed she was taking his threat of tossing her to the curb seriously. He meant it and she knew it. He smiled at the thought. The power to hire and fire was such a wonderful thing.

It was nearly six. She was probably trapped behind a bus, pounding on the steering wheel and screaming at the traffic to _move_.

All this waiting, waiting and more waiting. Only Cuddy could drive him this crazy. Another smile. The thought of her and her royal blue eyes and long silky hair was the only thing keeping him from hurling the glass against the wall.

Knock knock.

His head snapped around to the door. Heart racing, he got up and limped over to it, hoping he wouldn't appear like a sweaty, nervous teenager waiting for his prom date.

He opened the door. Cuddy stood there with a bottle of champagne and a dazzling smile.

"Get in here," House growled, grabbing her and practically yanking her out of her shoes. Before the door was even closed he had her locked in as deep and passionate a kiss a she could ever hope for or remember. Cuddy struggled to hold onto the champagne. After what seemed like hours they had to come up for air.

"Don't you _ever_ leave me like that again," House said between gasps for oxygen.

"Hello to you too." Cuddy felt lightheaded and took a few moments to get her bearings straight.

"Welcome back, Lisa." For a brief moment he wished he could pick her up and swing her around the room. Glancing at the bottle, he asked, "Whatcha got there?"

"Dom Perignon." Cuddy beamed and handed the bottle over.

"Nice," House said, the approval in his voice was off the charts. "Souvenir from a wedding, maybe?"

"We drank them all. This is just for us."

"You spoil me, Dr. Cuddy. Let's crack this baby open."

In the kitchen, House rummaged for a corkscrew while Cuddy got out two fresh glasses. There weren't any champagne flutes, but the one hundred fifty dollar drink would still taste the same whether it was served in crystal or a plastic cup.

Thankfully the bottle didn't explode all over the place, and soon House was clinking his glass to hers.

"Here's to leaving Des Plains far, far behind," he said thickly, then drained half the glass and let the bubbles tickle his nose.

His eyes moved all over Cuddy. "Take off your coat and stay a while."

"I have something to show you. It's the other reason I brought the champagne," his lover said, frowning a bit, almost like she was getting ready to confess a crime.

"Uh-oh." House frowned right along with her. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"It's no huge thing," Cuddy reassured him. "Well...I...just see for yourself."

The Dean of Medicine dug into her shoulderbag and pulled out the shredded remains of the Jack Daniels shirt.

"What the hell...," House gasped, nearly dropping his glass. "Were you attacked by a werewolf?"

"My uncle's washing machine ate it," she sighed.

"_What_?"

"They said I was free to do my laundry there," she explained, peeling off her coat and throwing it on the back of a chair. "I figured what the hell, one less chore to worry about when I get home. Well, that damn washing machine is from the Carter administration. The shirt got caught on the agitator and...it didn't have a prayer."

Staring at the ragged ribbons of his shirt, House said, "Well, Jack, at least your whiskey is good."

"I can't believe it," Cuddy said with a short laugh. "There was a full load of laundry in that machine and it chose _that_ shirt for a snack."

House raised his glass. "To the gods of laundry. May this sacrifice appease them for a while." He finished his drink, took one last look at the shirt, and unceremoniously tossed it in the garbage can.

"I'm sorry, Greg," she scowled.

"There's bound to be another Jack Daniels shirt somewhere in the world," the diagnostician remarked as he limped his way back over to his lover and slipped his free arm around her back. "In the meantime I'll just have to find you a loaner."

Cuddy returned his embrace. "I really feel terrible about it," she said, nibbling at his neck. "What can I do to make up to you?"

"Hmm...I can think of a few things," he grinned. "Just remember I've been waiting five days for this. I hope you're ready."

"You forgot one thing, Greg."

"What is that?"

She looked up, looked straight into his eyes. "I've been waiting five days, too. Consider yourself warned."


	12. Chapter 12

"Lisa." His voice was soft, quiet, barely above a whisper. She honestly thought he was talking in his sleep and didn't respond. She was feeling lazy and really didn't want to move for anything or anybody. 

"Lisa?" he said again, his voice a bit louder, but sleepiness still clung to it.

She still didn't answer, figuring he was just checking on her. Then House would get up, limp to the kitchen and put a pot of coffee on. Later she would wake up and find him watching The History Channel or playing the piano. That's usually how it happened one way or another.

Usually.

Usually doesn't mean it's set in stone.

The blankets pulled up and the bed dipped slightly as he slid over, draped an arm over her, rested his stubbly chin against her shoulder and dozed off again.

Silently Cuddy mused over this new development as she felt cocooned by his long limbs, his chest rising and falling against her back. House never did this. Never. By habit, the need of his leg, whatever, he almost always drifted to other side of the bed and slept on his left side or back.

But not tonight.

What was different tonight?

_He missed you, that's what_, Cuddy thought. _You were gone_, _remember?_ _It's his own little way of reassuring himself that you're back in his bed_.

She wondered what would have happened if she had answered. They'd be up making coffee and ordering Chinese. Cuddy liked this much better. This was something she could definitely get used to.

As she carefully entwined her fingers in his, her mind flipped through past five days, their emails and phone calls, how he all but begged her to come home early. Some part of it was for show, most of it was real.

He needed this reassurance right now. It was his to take. He could have all he wanted.

_Don't you ever leave me like that again._

Cuddy squeezed her lover's hand, then closed her eyes and felt the sensation of his beard scratching at her shoulder, his breath on her neck, the weight of his arm across her body. After all the countless nights when she wrapped herself around his sleeping form it was a welcome change. House was finally returning the favor. Better late than never.

Twitching and shifting at an unseen dream, something only he could see and feel, then House relaxed against her again. She hoped it was a nice dream.

He was only this relaxed and untroubled when he was asleep. The deep calm in his face that she saw at no other time told her everything she needed to know. Chasing dreams instead of pills. No pain to deal with.

The clock was out of sight, behind her, but some sense told her it was still early. House would be wide awake from his catnap soon and up half the night. Maybe luck would be on her side and she would be able to coax him to bed at a decent hour. Doubtful, but still worth a shot. Even if he didn't sleep it was still worth a shot.

"Mmmm...," House grunted as he stirred and stretched. "Lisa?"

"Greg."

"You're still here," he muttered into her shoulder, still half asleep.

"Where else would I be?" Cuddy asked.

"Des Plains. Just to torture me some more."

"I'm not going back there anytime soon."

"That's nice," he said absently. "You shouldn't go back until they get at least one stoplight and one horse in that town."

"Next time I'll go to Anchorage and play with the polar bears."

"Can I come with you?"

"To keep me company?"

"No. I want to watch the polar bears eat the stoplight."

"And the one horse too?" Cuddy laughed.

"Sure, why not? I'll even throw in a moose."

Still laughing, Cuddy turned over to face him. "You're so generous."

"To a fault," House smirked and propped up on his elbow. "I'm so damned generous I might even let you spend the night with me."

"Why should I do that?"

"Because I hate to sleep alone, and so do you."

"Really." Cuddy grinned.

"Yes, really. You didn't take that shirt with you because it was so gosh-darn comfy. You took it because it reminded you of me. Stop me anytime if I'm wrong."

"You're not wrong."

"I didn't think so," House said. "You slept in it every night, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"You dreamed of me every night."

"Yes, I did."

"What did you do when you opened the washing machine and saw what happened?"

"I almost cried."

"Almost?"

"I think I actually shed a tear or two."

"Mmm...I'll see if I can find you another one," House smiled, obviously pleased with what he heard. "Now how about some dinner."

"Dinner sounds wonderful," she answered.

"Great," he grinned. "You've more than earned it."


	13. Chapter 13

"Any more eggrolls?" House asked as he scraped for a few runaway morsels of orange chicken.

"I ate the last one," Cuddy answered.

"_Thief_."

"So sue me," she grinned. "After all that rich gourmet food I was in the mood for something greasy and filled with preservatives."

"A woman after my own heart." House grinned back and slurped down some ginger ale.

She eyed the cardboard box still on the table. "Checkers?"

"Yup. I had to do _something_ while you were gone."

"So you played checkers?"

"With Wilson. And I kicked his ass."

"Think you can win against me?"

"I should warn you, Dr. Cuddy," he said with his Cheshire cat grin. "I won one hundred and fifty bucks off Wilson before he gave up. I have no qualms with taking that much, if not more, from you."

"Did you play dirty?"

"No, I played _mercilessly_."

"Double or nothing I win the first game." Cuddy leaned into the table.

"Three hundred dollars for a game of checkers?"

"I'm good for it, and so are you."

"You're on." House opened the box and unfolded the board. "I'm red."

* * *

"How many tee shirts does one person need?" Cuddy piled the shirts on the bed as House lounged and watched impassively, propped up on the pillows.

"They're comfortable," he said, as if that was all the explanation anyone needed as to why he owned so many. "Are you going to go through each and every one?"

"Three hundred dollars or two tee shirts, Greg," Cuddy smirked without looking at him. "Do you have another Jack Daniels shirt?"

"No."

"Too bad. I really liked that one," she said, sifting through the pile. "Oh, this one looks familiar." She held up the colorful Ramones shirt as if it were a trophy. "What do you think?"

"It's you," he deadpanned, though his eyes glimmered with amusement.

"I think so too," she beamed and tossed her prize on her shoulder.

"Why don't you just buy some of your own?"

"This is more fun," Cuddy replied as she continued to search through the dozens of shirts. "If I buy my own they'll just be mine and not yours, therefore they won't remind me of you." She stopped and scowled. "Motley Crue?"

"It was a gift."

"Sure it was." A roll of her eyes and the sifting started up again.

"So when do I get to pick out one of your tee shirts?" House asked just for the hell of it.

Glancing over, she said, "If you're man enough to wear a pink tee shirt with kitties on it, be my guest. But seeing as how you're nine inches taller than me it probably wouldn't reach your navel."

He pretended to think it over. "Pink really isn't my color."

"Here we go!" A large gray shirt with emblazoned with Jim Morrison's picture was held up to the light.

"You want it, it's yours," House sighed, then gave her a friendly swat on the rear with the cane. "Just don't let those near any ancient washing machines."

"Believe me, I won't," Cuddy replied as she stuffed the rest of the shirts back in the drawer and glanced at the time. "It's ten-thirty and I have to be in early tomorrow. Let's say we call it a night."

"I'm not tired."

"Don't you ever go to bed before midnight?" she asked, sitting at the foot of the bed.

"Nine times out of ten, the answer is no," he said.

"What about tonight?"

"I'm not tired," he repeated. "I'll just get restless and fidgety, toss and turn and keep you up all night."

"Can you at least try to come to bed at a decent hour?"

"We'll see what the insomnia decides," House said. "I can't make any promises. But if you decide you're in the mood for a rematch, Lisa, just let me know."

Cuddy wore the Ramones tee shirt to bed. Piano music echoed in and out as she fell asleep.


	14. Chapter 14

House tried to be careful but he still woke Cuddy up when he finally climbed into bed. She didn't move, wondering if he would repeat his actions from earlier. A hand brushed her cheek, then she felt him settle in and soon he was quietly snoring away. Cuddy slid over and rested her head against his shoulder, wishing she could join him in his dreams.

When she got up and dressed it was still early. Cuddy had plenty of time to run home, grab a shower and change. She was munching on toast and sipping coffee at the table when the hinges of the bedroom door squeaked and the _click click_ of the cane brought House to join his lover in the kitchen. He had slept four hours, if that.

"Go back to bed," she said softly and at the same time marveled at how well he could function on so little sleep. She suspected House of being a life-long insomniac.

He shook his head, tipped a Vicodin into his mouth and washed it down with a gulp of her coffee.

"Any dreams?" Cuddy asked.

Another shake of his head.

"Go get some sleep, Greg."

"I slept," he replied curtly, letting her know he wasn't going back to bed and was through discussing it.

"There's probably a mountain of work waiting for me."

"Probably."

"I might not be able to see you for a couple of days."

A trace of disappointment flickered in his eyes. "I know."

"It's not set in stone. I'll let you know."

"Okay," House said, and took another gulp of her coffee.

"You can get your own coffee, you know." She eyed the now nearly empty cup.

House reached across the table and broke off a corner of her toast. "I _can_, that doesn't mean I _will_."

"And your own toast."

"So what exactly is your point?" he asked as he chewed on her breakfast and wondered if she actually had a point.

Sighing, she got up and fixed another cup, feeling his bright blue eyes cut through the dull morning light and burn a hole in her back. Those eyes never left her as she sat back down and took a long sip. The cup went back on the table. Cuddy picked up the rest of her toast. House, with a faint smile, his eyes still staring into hers, took the cup and a swallow, then set it back where it was.

"It's so nice when couples share things," he smiled.

"Is that what this is?"

"Well, you are under _my_ roof, sleeping in _my _bed, wearing _my_ shirt, drinking _my_ coffee, and eating _my_ food, so I guess the answer would be a resounding _yes_."

"Are you complaining?"

"No. Just pointing out a few facts."

"If you wanted me to make you a cup of coffee all you had to do was ask," Cuddy said, finishing up her breakfast.

"I didn't want my own cup," House smirked. "I wanted yours."

Arguing with him was useless. She got up and rinsed off the plate.

"You called us a 'couple'," Cuddy pointed out, sitting back down and sipping the coffee.

"So?"

"Is that what we are now?" She smiled and pushed the cup to House.

"It's what we've _been_," he answered, and downed the rest of the coffee just because he could. "I could have called you 'the old ball and chain' but I felt like being polite."

"I never thought I'd see the day," she remarked.

"I'm just full of surprises."

"I have to admit I am surprised."

"When you're catching up on your work tonight be sure to think of me and this moment to make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside," House said.

"What will you be doing?"

"Having a drink and watching television."

"And thinking of me?"

"I'll try to get around to it."

"Thank you," she grinned and looked at her watch. "I have to get going. I'll see you at the hospital."

"Before you go...," House pushed the coffee cup across the table.

Cuddy shook her head and grabbed the cup.


	15. Chapter 15

Almost eleven. House spent the evening by himself. It was okay. Cuddy couldn't be with him _every _night.

At least she wasn't in Des Plains.

She was back in Princeton where she belonged and that was just fine with him. He wouldn't cry if she never left the state again. He hoped she was home from the hospital by now and curled up in one of his shirts.

The doctor switched the channel over to the local news, finished the last of the champagne, and mused over the events of the day.

Cuddy was up to her beautiful blue eyeballs in work, but somehow she managed to find a few minutes to get him alone and relay her strange encounter with Cameron:

_"She kept asking me about you, kept asking me if I felt the same way. I told her it was none of her business but she wouldn't let up. Finally I said I finished what you started. Maybe that would give her something to think about for a while."_

The champagne was giving him a headache. The news was nothing but murder and mayhem, as usual. Scowling, he clicked the television off and limped to the kitchen. House downed a few ibuprofen and washed up the dishes. Chores were duller than the dishwater but the dishes weren't going to magically clean themselves.

_"Cameron still wouldn't go away. She wanted to know if you came to me first and I said yes. She asked what you were drawn to, why you came to me. I told her it was because you knew I'd accept you for what you were and that I'm more than your equal and she wasn't."_

It had been a long, long day. He was tired, not sleepy, but figured it wouldn't kill him to lay down for a while. He didn't have to worry about keeping Cuddy awake all night with him. The doctor peeled off his clothes and changed into sweats and a tee shirt.

_"..and I told her to get out of my office. She suddenly got this look like...I don't know...like she just woke up and was seeing everything for the time. She told me he was right. I asked her was right about what. She told me that you were never going to tell her what she wanted to hear and neither would I. Then she left."_

_Shut up and be a doctor, Cameron,_ House thought. He was a little disappointed that Cuddy didn't announce that she and Cameron had been in a hair-pulling, clothes-ripping catfight. Not that he actually expected it, but still, the thought made him grin. _Meow_.

Cameron was moody for the rest of the day, but at least the ice queen act vanished. He didn't tell her what Cuddy had said and she didn't ask. Sometime in the next day or two she'd corner him again and yak his ear off about it. Until then he wasn't going to bring it up. Let her stew over the fact that she had to learn her lesson the hard way, again, and had only herself to blame.

He'd probably spend the next evening alone again. Hopefully Cuddy wouldn't take the rest of forever to get caught up. He couldn't handle another five days without her so soon, if ever. And he wanted a checkers rematch.

The bedtime ritual of brushing his teeth, washing his scruffy face, and one last Vicodin for good measure. Can't forget the Vicodin.

House was staring at the ceiling and probably would be for the next hour or two. Nothing was on television, he didn't feel like reading. At least Cameron was out of his hair for now. One less thing to keep him from thinking about Cuddy.

Still, he wished there had been a catfight. He would have paid to see it.

_Meow_ indeed.


	16. Chapter 16

The world was going down the sewer and all House could do was watch it circle the proverbial drain.

Nothing but screaming babies, screaming kids and screaming mommies demanding to know what he was going to do about little Johnny's cough and little Suzy's sniffles. _Chicken soup and baby aspirin_, he told them flatly, _now get out of my sight_. Mommies bitched about wasting gas to come all this way for his less-than-extraordinary advice. House reminded them that he hardly forced them to make the drive, next patient please. By noon his head was throbbing.

Only a few fleeting glances of Cuddy gliding down the corridors like a ghost. That did nothing for his headache or his mood. He tried to distract himself with some yo-yo tricks, but that worked for maybe five whole minutes. He knew only so many yo-yo tricks. The day still had twelve hours left.

By three o'clock his headache was one screeching brat away from being a migraine. House was ready to put his fist through a wall.

Six o'clock. Home sweet home. House chewed four extra-strength migraine pills and collapsed on the sofa. No lights, he couldn't handle anything beyond the near total darkness. His stomach was sour. He tried to think of nothing as the headache slowly but surely ebbed away. Thinking took effort and effort made his head hurt even more. No effort, no pain. It was almost too easy.

Finally he could open his eyes and move again. Chicken noodle soup for dinner. Hardly a feast but his stomach wasn't going to let him get away with anything big and spicy.

The evening was spent watching _Cold Case Files_. He had already seen these particular episodes. After the third glass of scotch he felt too lazy to change the channel. Plus he was afraid that if Donald Trump or Martha Stewart popped up on the television he would kick the screen in.

Knocking on the front door. It was after 10pm. Too late for Girl Scout cookies.

"Can I come in?" Cuddy asked through the two-inch gap.

"Of course," House sputtered as he picked his jaw off the floor.

She wafted in barefoot, one shoe in each hand. Band-aids covered the back of her heels.

"New shoes, Lisa?" House grinned as he closed and locked the door.

"Trying to break them in," she scowled, dumped the shoes and flopped on the sofa. "They broke me instead."

He limped over and sank in next to her, lifted up her legs and put them on his lap. Fire-engine red polish gleamed from her toenails. "What brings you by?" House asked, massaging her ankles.

"I got my work done. I figured I'd swing by and surprise you."

"Consider me surprised."

"I knew you would be. That feels nice." She smiled as House continued to rub her feet and moved up to her legs.

"Long day at the office, boss?"

"Don't even get me started. I never want to see another manila folder for as long as I live. How about you?"

"Yuppie moms with yuppie concerns," he said. "The day one of them brings in an actual sick kid I'll drop dead from shock."

"So it was just like any other day."

"Pretty much," the doctor chuckled. "You look tired, Lisa."

"I need a long hot shower and a nice warm bed."

"You could have gone home for that."

"I don't feel like sleeping alone tonight."

"What a coincidence, neither do I," House said. "My shower is your shower, but I'm all out of cucumber-melon bodywash and orange-blossom hair conditioner."

"I'll get over it," Cuddy grinned. "And I need something to sleep in."

"You just took two of my shirts and now you want a _third_?"

"Just for tonight. It won't leave your place, I promise."

"You know where they are." House sighed and rested his head on the back of the sofa.

"I don't want to sleep alone," Cuddy said, standing up.

"I'll be there," he said. She was relentless in her efforts to get him to sleep more than five hours a night. He had to wonder if she understood it wasn't because he _wouldn't_, it was because he _couldn't._

Four hours later he joined her in his bed. He slid up to her side, draped an arm over her, and rested his chin on her shoulder.


	17. Chapter 17

"Do you want some coffee?" Cuddy asked.

"I'll take some of yours," House answered, looking her over. The morning was chilly. She had put on a pair of his sweatpants, rolled up no less than three times at the ankles because they were so long on her.

She brought the largest mug he owned filled to the brim with strong black coffee to the table and took the first sip. House had been up for at least an hour, his dirty coffee cup from earlier was in the sink. Cuddy didn't say anything. She believed the coffee thing was some sort of petty revenge for beating him at checkers. And as long as it was his coffee there really wasn't anything she could do about it.

"Have you given it any thought, Greg?" she asked, pushing the big grey mug across the table.

He knew what she was asking about. There was no need to say it out loud. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because I have no idea what I'm supposed to think," he said thickly. The coffee was too hot. It burned his tongue.

"You could call her."

"I don't know where she is. She could be in Timbuktu for all I know...or care."

"You can find out."

"And then what?" The words came out sharper than he intended. "What am I supposed to say to her? 'Hi Stacy, remember me? Eight years ago you fucked up my leg and broke my heart. I'll never forgive you and I'll hate your guts forever. I just wanted you to know that.' Does that sound about right, Lisa?"

"Greg, you don't hate her." Cuddy pulled the cup back.

"You're right," House said, the sharpness replaced by quiet resignation. "I don't hate her."

"You can forgive her."

"No, I can't." No anger in his voice, just sadness. "She wanted to do the right thing, sure, but we all know the road to hell is paved with, right?" He looked up at the woman sitting across the table. "I don't blame you, Lisa. I would have done the same thing."

No response, she just pushed the mug back over to him.

House picked it up and continued, "You want me to have some kind of closure, don't you?"

"Yes."

"It's not going to happen."

"Why?"

"Because what happened can't be fixed."

"This isn't just about your leg, Greg. This is also about Stacy leaving you."

"Oh...she left me all right," he hissed. "She left me with _nothing_, and for years that's all I _had_, until I stumbled on all that baggage. So why should I waste another second of my life thinking about her?" He took a gulp of coffee and smacked the cup back down. Drops of dark liquid splashed up and landed on his arm. If it was still hot he didn't appear to notice.

"She left you with that fear," Cuddy said. "She left you with that if nothing else."

"That was so nice of her."

The Dean of Medicine closed her eyes and sighed. "Greg, I'm not asking or expecting you to move mountains here. Just make an effort, a token effort. If you can't do it for yourself, can you at least do it for me?"

"Are you laying a guilt trip on me, Lisa?"

"No, I'm just asking for a favor."

"I just want to forget about her."

"I know you do."

"For you I'll move mountains," he said with a tiny humorless smile. "Aside from kicking off her baggage, Stacy is only worth a token effort and that's all she's getting."

* * *

Gregory House sat at his desk and stared at the numbers. Wilson had dug them up for him. The area code was for Los Angeles. Stacy's last known phone number. He couldn't look away. 

He had hoped Cuddy wouldn't ask at all, that she would be too busy running the hospital to think about it. Not so, apparently. Given her strange obsession with his insomnia, the only thing should have been surprised at was the fact that it took this long to bring it up.

A token effort. He could follow through on that. That little box hiding the fear was just going to have to stay put for now. He just wasn't ready to hunt for it. Maybe when he got rid of the baggage. Maybe when the divorce came through. Maybe a few years down the road. Maybe never.

Calmly he pulled out his phone and punched in the numbers.

Ring. Ring.

"_The number you have dialed has been disconnected..._"


	18. Chapter 18

It was well after 8pm when Cuddy heard the motorcycle pull into her driveway. Only one man she knew rode a motorcycle. She didn't wait by the door, instead she padded to the kitchen, put her empty wine glass in the sink, and listened for the knock.

She opened the door and found him leaning on the cane, looking lost and angry, just like the first night he showed up on her doorstep. He was even wearing the same shirt.

"The number was disconnected," House said without emotion.

"Are you lying?" she asked, and watched as the anger in his face drained away, replaced with a tired scowl.

"No."

The regarded each other for a few moments, then she held the door open and watched as he limped to his favorite spot on the couch. A dark cloud hung over the room. It was a mistake to try to get him to deal with an issue he was nowhere near ready to deal with. It took eight years to let go of Stacy. This was something he was just beginning to see and understand. She had been stupid to think he would dive head-first into it and not open up old wounds. She should have kept her mouth shut.

House relaxed back into the cushion and closed his eyes. Cuddy joined him, eventually resting her hand on his shoulder. He pushed it away, not wanting to be touched, but that wasn't going to stop her this time. Hand on shoulder again, pushed away again. Her hand grabbed his arm. He tried to pull away. Cuddy wasn't going to let go, she held on tight with dogged determination, nails digging into his wrist. A frigid stare came from his blue eyes that she matched with her own.

"She left me with nothing. _Nothing_," he said in a dull, flat voice. "She took everything that belonged to her, every scrap of paper, every book, every videotape she ever bought. When I went home I couldn't believe it. It was like she had never lived there."

"Did she even say goodbye?"

"No. Couldn't be bothered to do that. She didn't even leave a note. She just disappeared."

"I would never do that to you," Cuddy told him. His arm was still tense as her nails dug in deeper. Finally, he wrenched it away. Little red half-moons stood out on his skin.

"I know."

"If you know then why are you still convinced it's going to happen?"

"I can't help it. I just can't help it."

"Yes, you can, Greg."

"No, I can't."

"Don't talk like that. Yes, you can."

"That's real easy for you to say, Lisa. You _think_ you understand, you _want_ to understand, but you don't have the first clue. And for your sake I hope you never do."

"Why not?"

"Just take my word for it. I wouldn't wish it my worst enemy's dog."

That was the end of it. Usually Cuddy couldn't get House to shut up, but that night she couldn't pry a dozen more sentences out of him to save her life. The taciturn moods hadn't surfaced in while. She was concerned, but that concern ebbed a little when he didn't object to her curling up against him and running her fingers through his hair. It always calmed House if nothing else, and that night was no different. After a while the doctor was falling asleep on the couch. Cuddy had to look at two different clocks before being convinced it was only 10:30pm.

"Greg," she said quietly, but still managed to startle him a bit. "Go lay down." She wasn't about to let him leave, as tired as he was.

"'Kay," he muttered, and stumbled to the bedroom without looking back or saying another word.

Ten minutes was all she could wait. Peeking around the door she saw clothes puddled on the floor, the cane hanging on the bedpost and House sprawled on top of the covers, sound asleep. He was wearing the Jim Morrison shirt.

Ten minutes after that Cuddy joined with the Ramones shirt and a spare blanket. Around 4 o'clock she woke up freezing. Her lover had rolled over and took the blanket with him. As she was trying to burrow under the comforter she looked over and realized House was still in deep sleep after five and a half hours. Cuddy fell back into dreamland with a small, satisfied smile.


	19. Chapter 19

Cuddy woke up to a tickling sensation along her neck and shoulders. House was playing with her hair.

"Morning," she heard him say as her eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness. Sometime over the last hour or so he had joined her under the comforter, the spare blanket spread back over the top of them.

"Good morning." Cuddy blinked the lingering sleepiness away. "How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough," House answered with deliberate vagueness, nothing in his voice indicating if he really cared about how long he had been up or not.

"Do you always play with my hair when I'm sleeping?" she asked as he continued to wrap and unwrap his fingers around her long dark curls.

"I don't know, do I?"

"I'll take that as a _yes_."

His face was almost hidden in a shadow, but she knew he was smiling. Any remaining anger appeared to be hiding out for the time being. Cuddy decided to wait it out and see if he brought up the events of the previous day first.

Only ten more minutes until the alarm was set to buzz. She reached over and flicked the switch to OFF. House despised her alarm, and Cuddy didn't want that day to be the day he snapped and hurled the clock through the window. Let him save his energy for something actually worth going temporarily insane over.

"Staying for breakfast?" she asked innocently, wanting him to keep his good mood.

"What's on the menu?"

"There's a full package of blueberry waffles in the freezer."

"Yummy. Let's fire up the toaster, boss."

* * *

"How many waffles today, miss?" House asked as he handed over a glass of soy milk. The multi-grain waffles and sugar-free syrup were tolerable, but he drew the line at soy milk, declaring he would drink only 'real milk from real fucking cows that moo and everything'. 

"Three. I'm starving."

"Three waffles for the Dean of Medicine it is."

Even with the limp and the cane, there was still an element of grace to his movements. Cuddy enjoyed watching as he shuffled back and forth across the linoleum in his bare feet and rumpled clothes. He brought the syrup and margarine to the table, then switched on her new coffee maker.

"You should get a cappuccino machine," he mused as the coffee began to stream into the pot. The waffles popped up with a ding, the scent of blueberries filled the kitchen.

"Why, you don't even like cappuccino. You call it 'coffee for pussies and yuppie scum'." She paused and smiled as he set her breakfast on the table. "Just take the espresso machine from the clinic waiting room," she added, referring to last spring when a phantom prankster kept taping up a sign that read: "Unattended Children Will Be Given a Double Espresso and a Free Puppy". Cuddy knew it was House but could never prove it. The signs stopped appearing around the time his random visits to her home began.

"Who gets the puppies?" he smirked, stuffing four waffles into the toaster, eyes glittering in the morning light. Of course it was him. Case closed.

House joined her at the table and plowed through half his waffles before stopping for a breath. "There's a couple of very nice people who want to meet you and Wilson," he said with a gulp of coffee.

"Hmmm?" Cuddy was still chewing.

"You'll love them, I promise."

"Who are you talking about?"

"Detective Goren and Detective Eames."

"You're joking," she gasped, almost spilling her glass.

"Hardly. Bobby emailed me last night. He and Alex would love to have dinner with us Friday or Saturday if that's possible."

"Saturday. Saturday would be better." He didn't want to talk about Stacy right now. She couldn't make him if he didn't want to. That was fine for the moment. Her mind was going a mile a minute, making plans for the New York City cops. "What should I make?"

"You don't have to make anything. We'll go to a restaurant."

"No, they'll have a real meal _here_. I'll make spaghetti and potatoes and garlic bread–"

"Lisa, are you sure–"

"_Yes_! What about dessert?"

"I'm sure I can talk Wilson into providing dessert." He smiled at her enthusiasm.

"Great!" She beamed. "I'm so excited! I can't wait to meet them!"


	20. Chapter 20

House was slathering garlic butter on the bread and watching Cuddy from the corner of his eye.She was putting together a plate of vegetables and another of cheese and crackers, arranging them so artfully it was almost a shame to eat them. Spaghetti sauce simmered away on the stove. In the dining room, Wilson was setting out plates and silverware in return for the promise that he wouldn't have to do the dishes later.

Even though she kept her home spotless to begin with, Cuddy had gone on a cleaning frenzy the night before. Everything shined. The distinctive scent of Pine-Sol still hung in the bathroom. House suggested that she should just save her plates and have everyone eat off the kitchen floor.

"There!" Cuddy said with a satisfied grin as she wrapped the appetizers in foil and put them in the fridge. On the bottom shelf was the chocolate cheesecake Wilson had brought. It was calling her name.

"Save some for the guests," House said, and smiled as he watched the blush creep up her neck.

"Glasses?" Wilson strolled in and looked longingly at the sauce.

"Next to the sink," Cuddy pointed. "How's the garlic bread coming?"

"Almost done, boss."

"Great." She was dressed to the nines in a black skirt, cobalt blue blouse, and high-heels clacking on the floor. A long string of pearls glittered at her throat. Wilson was all dolled up in his best suit, shaved and groom to within an inch of his life. House was his usual scruffy self in jeans and sneakers. But he did iron his shirt, the light blue one that Cuddy liked.

Half an hour before the guests were due to arrive. Cuddy paused for a sip of wine.

"They're going to love you," the older doctor said as he put the garlic bread on a cookie sheet. "They're not going to arrest you."

"Why couldn't you buy the dessert, Greg?" Wilson asked as he helped himself to the wine.

House smirked. "Because I told you to."

"Do you know how much that cheesecake cost?" The oncologist frowned into his glass.

"Nothing but the best for New York City's finest." House leaned back into the counter. "Be sure to mention the price to Bobby and Alex, you might win them over. Or maybe they'll think you're trying to bribe them. Maybe they'll try to arrest you for that, but I'm not sure about the whole jurisdiction thing."

"And just what have _you_ contributed to this dinner?" Wilson asked.

"I buttered the garlic bread."

"I hope you didn't strain yourself," the younger doctor said dryly.

"Well, I suggested we go to a restaurant, but Lisa here insisted on cooking a _real meal_," House pointed out. "And you didn't _have_ to go into debt for that gold-plated cheesecake in there. Plus Bobby and Alex already know me and like me, therefore, I have nothing to prove."

"Is that so?" Cuddy asked, sloshing her drink around the glass.

"Absolutely." The older doctor grinned from ear to ear. "In case you forgot, they're driving all the way from The Big Apple to meet _you two_. You and Jimmy have everything to prove and everything to lose."

The Dean of Medicine arched an eyebrow. "True."

"See, Lisa? I didn't have to butter the garlic bread for you. That's five minutes of my life I'll never get back because I wanted to do you a favor for your guests."

"You're too kind," she sighed. "I'm sure Mother Theresa is doing backflips in her grave over your selflessness."

"They should make you a saint," Wilson chuckled.

The diagnostician grinned at his friend. "Heaven doesn't want me and Hell is afraid I'll take over. Besides, Saint House just doesn't sound right."

With a short laugh, Cuddy turned and did a last minute inspection. The glasses and silverware gleamed like treasure. The sauce was still simmering at the right temperature. She had House fill the big pot with water for the noodles and Wilson set out the dinner napkins. Ten more minutes for the potatoes. Appetizers were within easy reach. The garlic bread would go in the oven when the noodles were boiling away.

A big black SUV pulled into the driveway. A car door slammed, then another. The doctors walked over to the door and waited for the knock. The detectives had arrived.


	21. Chapter 21

"Hello," the blonde woman said with smile. "You must be Dr. Lisa Cuddy."

"And you must be Detective Alexandra Eames," Cuddy smiled back and shook her hand. "It's so nice to finally meet you." Her gaze shifted up to blonde detective's partner. "And _you're_ Detective Robert Goren."

"Yes, that's right," the tall detective said, engulfing her hand in his.

House stood to the side and quietly watched as more introductions were made and pleasantries were changed. Wilson hung up the detectives coats, and Goren presented the hostess with a bottle of wine. Cuddy excused herself to the kitchen. Eames and Wilson chatted away, apparently hitting it off. The diagnostician continued to watch as Goren's muddy brown eyes looked over the place, taking in everything. A cop habit he couldn't break. House was ready to bet a thousand dollars that the detective had a photographic memory.

"Dr. House." Goren's capped teeth gleamed as he caught sight of his friend. "Joining the party?"

"Can't start without me," the doctor smirked, looking Goren up and down. "You didn't have to get all dressed up just for me, Bobby. Nice suit."

"Thanks. New cane?"

"It's in the shop. This one's a loaner." House shouldn't have been surprised at that observation, but was anyway. Goren noticed _everything_. "How's the detecting business? Keeping busy?"

"No shortage of bad guys," Goren said. "Lately they all seem to be British. Must be some weird criminal exchange rate."

"Dr. House!" Eames came over and gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. A smiling Wilson trailed behind her. "Good to see you again."

"Alex," the doctor grinned. "I trust you're keeping your partner here in line."

"You know I am," she laughed as her partner rolled his eyes.

Cuddy called from the dining room: "There's appetizers here." As her guests filed in, she opened the wine and added, "Dinner will be ready shortly."

The blonde detective nibbled on a baby carrot. "Dinner smells good, Dr. Cuddy."

"Lisa, please," the Dean of Medicine beamed.

"Lisa goes all out for company," House smirked as he took a glass of wine. "Especially when they carry badges and guns."

"I think they're about fifty miles or so out of their jurisdiction," Wilson said, handing a glass of wine to Eames, then taking one for himself.

House eyed the oncologist. "Jurisdiction or not, their guns will still shoot."

"We're off duty," Goren assured everyone. "We're out of our jurisdiction and our guns and badges are locked up. Right now we're just regular guests here for what I'm sure will be a wonderful dinner."

Cuddy raised an eyebrow at her lover. "I go all out for my company, no matter what their profession, or lack of it."

House raised an eyebrow back and munched a cracker. "Absolutely."

"We finally had to break down and meet the 'Lisa' Dr. House is always talking about," Eames said.

"Really." Cuddy looked at the diagnostician with what could be only described as shock and awe. He said nothing and swiped another cracker.

"How was the drive over?" Wilson changed the subject before his friend died of embarrassment. "Not too bad, I hope."

"Ever been to New York City, Doctor?" Goren asked the oncologist.

"No."

"As long as the vehicle doesn't fly off the road and you make it to your destination in one piece, any drive can be categorized as 'not too bad'."

Wilson chuckled and refilled the detective's glass. "Well, I can hardly argue with that. If the traffic there is half as bad as I think it is, I'll just take your word for it."

"Traffic worse than New Jersey," House mused. "I'm tempted to go there just to see it."

Goren said, "Traffic is traffic, Dr. House. The only difference is the license plate numbers."

A bell sounded from the kitchen.

"Dinner is coming right up," Cuddy said, and smiled at her guests. "I hope everyone brought their appetites."


	22. Chapter 22

_A/N: Just want to say thanks to everyone. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Keep the reviews and suggestions coming._

_The chapter contains a breakdown of the L&O:CI episode "Malignant"._

* * *

The usual ice-breaking chit-chat went back and forth. Goren entertained the doctors with stories about his adventures in Germany during his army days. Next, Eames told a few anecdotes about how she came from a family of cops and never dreamed of being anything else. Cuddy was floored when the blonde detective told of how she was a surrogate mother for her sister, and she promised to show off pictures of her nephew later. 

Soon everyone was relaxed, like old friends. The large meal and wine certainly helped.

"So, Bobby," House began as the detective helped himself to another piece of garlic bread. "Do you and Alex have a favorite case?"

"Favorite?" Goren gave the doctor a quizzical look.

"You know, a case you like to hold up as a prime example of your fantastic police work." House glanced around saw everyone looking at the cops expectantly.

"Getting a criminal off the street is a fantastic thing, regardless," Goren said. "I can't really say there's a favorite among them."

"Don't be so modest," House grinned. "Surely there's _something_ that stands out among all the cases you've worked on. If you don't tell at least one juicy story filled with murder and mayhem, Lisa and Jimmy here will be crestfallen."

"Can't have that," the detective smiled and turned to his partner. "Eames? Anything come to mind?"

She said with chin in hand, "Can murder and mayhem wait until after dessert? If I may ask, is there a dessert?"

"Chocolate cheesecake," Cuddy beamed.

"Nothing is going to spoil my appetite for _that_," Eames declared, shooting a warning look around the table, stopping at her partner.

"Look, you're cops, we're doctors," Wilson pointed out in case someone forgot. "All of us see and hear about blood and guts and mayhem every day."

"That doesn't mean we have to discuss it at the dinner table," Cuddy said curtly, refilling her wine glass.

"Okay, let's compromise," House said. "It would be–pardon the expression–a _crime_ for the detectives here to leave tonight without thrilling us with at least one story. There must be at least one case that didn't involve a bunch of blood, guts and gore."

Goren looked at his partner for an answer since he was chewing the last of his garlic bread.

"That pharmacist, Halliwell," she said as Goren nodded. "It started out as the robbery and murder of two delivery guys–"

"–and ended with one pharmacist, trying to keep a promise," her partner finished, then threw back the rest of his wine.

"A pharmacist promised to kill two delivery guys?" Wilson puzzled as he twirled spaghetti around his fork.

"No, no," the detective said with a chuckle. "_That _the pharmacist had nothing to do with. Turned out to be some teenagers, now cooling their homicidal heals in jail, doing about twenty years or so."

"And the pharmacist?" Cuddy asked, fascinated.

Goren continued, "The delivery guys were delivering drug orders to pharmacies, one of them run by Halliwell. All American guy, been in the business for twenty years, married, goes to church every Sunday, the whole nine yards. Anyway, one of the drug orders to Halliwell was forged, he didn't order it, one of the teenagers did it to help set up the robbery. But Halliwell lied and told us he _did _place that order."

"Naturally, that made us a bit curious," Eames smirked, pushing her wine glass away.

"Curious indeed." Goren saw the doctors were hanging on his every word and was a bit amused by it. "Why would he lie about something that wasn't his fault to begin with? Well, records showed some weird inconsistencies with Halliwell; selling more product than he was buying, things like that. Also his customers were keeling over dead from illnesses that should have been cured or at the very least helped by the drugs they were buying from him."

"I'm almost afraid to ask," the Dean of Medicine said. "What was he doing?"

Eames answered, "Diluting the drugs for profit."

"You're joking." House gaped as Wilson nearly choked on his dinner.

"If only," Goren sighed.

"_Why?_" Cuddy asked with wide-eyed disbelief.

"To save face," the blonde detective replied.

"To keep a promise he made," Goren said. "By all appearances Halliwell was a pillar of the community. He was a good husband, father, and friend. He was active in his church, the kind of guy you could count on, those things meant a lot to him. Unfortunately for Halliwell and his customers, nobody realized how much he needed to live up to that, no matter what."

"So what was this promise he so desperately needed to keep?" the diagnostician asked.

The tall detective paused to refill his wine glass and answered, "A million dollar pledge to his church to help build some kind of recreation center."

"Whoa...," the oncologist gasped.

"And he couldn't just come out and say he couldn't afford it?" Cuddy was ready to fall out of her chair.

"He felt he couldn't," Goren said with a slight scowl. "He had to follow through on that pledge. By the time we found out, he had been diluting the drugs for four years, trying to get every dollars worth to make his pledge requirements."

"That's...that's just incredible." Wilson swayed in his chair.

"Halliwell's in prison now. Nothing to dilute there but the illegal moonshine," Eames informed them. "Juicy enough story for you, Dr. House?"

"The juiciest. You two sure know how to pick 'em," he answered while a few of the unethical and downright illegal things he had done over the years flickered through his head. He knew he wasn't an angel, but he also knew there were more than a few lines he would never be able to cross, no matter how hard he was pushed.

"More like luck of the draw," Goren replied. He smiled at Cuddy as she stood and began to clear the plates. "Need some help, Dr. Cuddy?"

"No thank you, Bobby. Care for some coffee?"

"Coffee would be great. As I told Dr. House once, it's always about love or money."

"Always?" Wilson asked

"Always," the detective replied. " Well, almost always. How about a break from stories for a while. Does anyone here play chess?"


	23. Chapter 23

Chocolate cheesecake was cut and served. Wine was replaced with coffee. Cuddy didn't own a chess set, but Goren kept a travel size set with him "in case of emergencies". The pawns were no bigger than thumbtacks. They disappeared between the detective's large fingers, making it look like he was trying to pinch the air.

As the board was being set up, Cuddy and Wilson were smiling at the nephew pictures on Eames's cellphone. While everyone was distracted, Eames took the opportunity to shamelessly wolf down her second piece of cheesecake.

"He's so adorable!" Cuddy gushed as she handed back the phone. "How old is he now?"

"Two-and-a-half," the blonde detective smiled. "He's already a little bulldozer, wearing Mommy and Daddy and Aunt Alex out."

"A regular handful," Wilson said, turning back to his dessert.

"That's the understatement of the century," Eames snorted with a gulp of her coffee. "He's like the Energizer Bunny–just keeps going and going..."

"Okaayyy...," House finished arranging his black chess pieces and rolled up his sleeves. "Lisa, are you ready to watch me kick the crap out New York's Finest?"

"You bet." She smiled at him and pulled up her chair.

Without a word Eames got up and settled next her partner. "Bobby, if you don't win we'll never hear the end of it."

"I'd like to remain neutral if that's okay," Wilson said as he made himself comfortable at the head of the table, putting himself between the other doctors and the cops.

"No way, Jimmy, pick a side." House narrowed his ice-blue eyes at the oncologist. Wilson remained unfazed.

"Fine, I pick _my_ side. Are you going to play or what?"

"By all means." The diagnostician turned his gaze to the cop. "Let the carnage begin. You first, Bobby."

"Thank you, Doctor," Goren said, pushing a pawn forward, careful that his big hands wouldn't knock over the other pieces.

"What does the winner get?" Wilson asked.

"Bragging rights," House answered, moving a pawn of his own.

The oncologist gave his friend a stony look. "You'll take my money for checkers, but not his for chess? That's hardly fair."

"Life is never fair, Jimmy. Welcome to reality."

"Checkers?" Goren smirked and his partner joined him.

"Some chess pieces were missing. Really," House answered, then nodded at the board. "It's your move."

The pawns moved up, and soon other pieces were making their way towards the kings and queens. Goren drew first blood, snatching a pawn with a knight. House wanted to strike back, but couldn't without putting a knight or a bishop in the line of fire. It was too early. He had to settle for moving another pawn out of harms way.

Conversation died down as the pieces began to pile up on both sides of the board. Soon the game was interrupted only by requests for more coffee and directions to the bathroom. Goren took off his tie and Wilson loosened his. Cuddy leaned into her lover's shoulder, feeling him tense up a bit as the detective knocked off a bishop with his castle.

House studied the board as the soft ticks from everyone's respective watches floated across the table. Stealing a glance at Goren, Cuddy saw him waiting with careful practiced patience, letting his opponent take as long as necessary. The detective's expression was neutral, giving away a shred of nothing. Though the game was coming to a close, she knew that Goren and House would sit there all night if they had to, unable to give up until one of them won. She also knew that if she were a criminal the last thing the world she would want was those two cops after her law-breaking hide. She might as well take a cab to jail and save them the trouble.

Tick tock. Tick tock. A remaining black bishop was put in enemy territory. The bishop was safe but the king wasn't. "Check," House said simply.

Goren's sharp eyes looked up and down the sixty-four squares. He reached over and moved his castle. "Check to you, Doctor."

"You wish," the doctor said, and knocked off Goren's castle with his remaining black castle. The detective had no choice but to move his bishop away from the king. House swooped in. "That, Detective, is check mate."

Eames gasped, Goren shook his head, Wilson laughed, and Cuddy threw her arms around House's neck.

"Good job, Doctor." Goren reached his hand across the table and the doctor shook it.

"Thanks, Bobby. You know I am _so_ going to brag about this to everyone."

"Everyone?" Eames asked.

"You better believe it," the diagnostician grinned. "I'm sure I could find your captain's phone number."


	24. Chapter 24

Goren declined a rematch. Eames would never let him live his defeat down, but he'd worry about it later.

More coffee refills and more swapped stories of not-so-clever criminals, memorable patients, college hijinks, childhood adventures and the like. Laughter and gasps and questions filled the dining room like confetti thrown in the air. Time appeared to stay out of the room, and when Eames glanced at her watch she was stunned to see it was 1am.

After many rounds of good-byes, thank yous, and promises to get together again, the detectives pulled out of the driveway and pointed the SUV towards New York City. Wilson helped clear the table, then reminded the hostess that he didn't have to do the dishes, and beat a hasty retreat before she changed her mind on him. The sudden quiet loomed over the place.

Cuddy retreated to the kitchen. House followed and watched from the doorway as she packed the leftovers away and moved to the dishes.

"They loved you," House said. "I told you they would love you."

"They were very nice. Bobby is quite a character. We'll definitely have to get together again." She looked up from the sink. "Are you just going to stand there?"

"Yes."

Cuddy shot him a look, then opened the dishwasher. "And Alex, she can really hold her own. If I were a cop, I'd want a partner like her."

"I'm sure the Major Case Squad doesn't take any idiot who walks through the door, no matter how cute they are," House said, limping into the room and leaning into the refrigerator door.

"You think she's cute?" Cuddy asked with mock concern.

"I was talking about Bobby," House smirked. "But now that you mention it..."

Cuddy chuckled, she walked right into that one. "Are you going home, Greg?"

"No," he said, turned and headed to the bedroom.

She loaded the dishwasher, turned it on, and got ready for bed. House was already buried under the covers on what she had lately come to think of as his side of the bed. The sight of his clothes on the floor and his cane against the night table were now a regular part of her life. Though his eyes were closed, she knew he wasn't asleep and didn't say a word as she changed into a nightgown and joined him under the covers. He pulled her close. She felt his warmth all over and fell asleep as he played with her hair.

* * *

She woke up alone, but that was hardly a surprise. He hadn't left yet. The faint gurgle of the coffee maker drifted down the hall. 

He was drinking coffee at the head of the kitchen table, facing the doorway, waiting for her to get up.

"Big sale at Victoria's Secret, Lisa?" House asked, eyeing the frilly nightgown with apparent approval.

"The tee shirts are in the wash," Cuddy said, though House liked what he was seeing and offered up no complaints. "Do you want some breakfast?"

"Sure."

Cuddy hesitated for a second, then opened the dishwasher and pulled out the top rack. "I have four blueberry waffles left. Put the glasses away and they're all yours."

House, caught off guard, peered over his cup at his lover as if she had suddenly announced that aliens were landing on her front lawn. "What?"

"Take care of the glasses and I'll fix you waffles and anything else you want."

"You're joking, right?"

"No," she said, folding her arms. "You seem to forget that you're under _my_ roof right now. And seeing as how I cooked _you_ and your friends a _wonderful_ meal last night, it won't kill you to do this for me."

"You're serious."

"I am."

"Just the glasses?" He looked over the clean, shiny dishes.

"Glasses, coffee cups, everything in this top rack."

The doctor started to pull himself up, then paused. "Can I have bacon with my waffles?"

"You know I don't have any bacon."

"Hash browns?"

"I don't have any hash browns."

"Eggs?"

"I have eggs. Do you want some eggs, Greg?"

"Yes, two eggs over easy if you don't mind. Do you have any orange juice?"

"No, just grapefruit juice."

"I'll pass on that," he said, standing up with a grunt.

Cuddy leaned against the refrigerator just as House had the night before and watched as he limped over. The glasses were easier for him since they were kept in the cabinet right by the dishwasher and sink. But the coffee cups had been moved next to coffee maker at the other end of the counter, and House had to make three trips. Cuddy's eyes never left him.

He finished, pushed the rack back in, closed the dishwasher, and went back to his place at the table. "Could you make that three eggs?" he asked with a tilt of his head and glint in his eyes.

"If that's what you want."

"It is," he smiled. "I'm waiting."

Cuddy smiled back and opened the refrigerator.


	25. Chapter 25

With a small, satisfied smile, House watched her move around the kitchen. His good mood had carried over the last few days and she was more than a little pleased. Even when she turned her back, she knew the smile was still there. He eyes never left her. She wondered if he was even blinking. Turning to meet and match his gaze, she had to ask, "What? Do you want something else?"

He only broadened his smile and replied, "With a nightgown like that, it's amazing Victoria has _any_ secrets at all."

Snickering, she turned back to the stove and set the flame on high Then she heard the chair squeak as he stood up, and the soft tap of the cane. An arm slipped tightly around her waist.

"Did you decide to come over and cook your own breakfast?" Cuddy asked, even though they both knew damn good and well that was the last thing on his mind.

"I like to watch." The double entendre dripped all around them and pooled on the floor.

"Me or the eggs?" she couldn't help saying as she cracked an egg one-handed on the frying pan.

"Mmmm...you're nice to look at too," he said in a low, quiet voice that was filled to the brim with salaciousness. His perpetual seven o'clock shadow scratched at her neck as he leaned in closer. "Feel like playing hooky today, boss? I certainly do."

"Tempting, but we can't. We're grown-ups with responsibilities, not high schoolers."

"High schoolers," he echoed with amusement. "Youth is _so_ wasted on the young."

"I have a hospital to run."

"It's Sunday. What happens on Sundays?" He almost sounded serious, and probably was.

Cuddy sighed and gently removed herself from his grip. "The world doesn't come to a screeching halt on Sundays. The one day I play hooky will be the day a tornado levels the hospital. If that should ever happen–knock on wood it doesn't–I should be there."

"The captain should go down with the ship," House said as he watched the eggs slide from the pan to the plate.

"Yes, exactly."

"What about the first mate?"

"The first mate will be at the hospital too, on time." Waffles joined the eggs. She reached for the sugar-free syrup.

"If he isn't?"

With a wicked smile, Cuddy told him, "Then he puts away the rest of the dishes _and_ scrubs out the toilet with his toothbrush."

House pretended to weigh his options. "Could you bring the pepper to the table?" he asked, limping to fetch his coffee cup for a refill.

Plate in one hand, syrup and pepper shaker in the other, Cuddy laid out his meal, then fixed herself a bowl of Grape-Nuts. House once asked why she didn't just eat a bowl of gravel being as it had the same consistency and flavor as her cereal of choice. She never dignified his question with an answer.

"If you don't want to play hooky," House began, smothering the waffles in syrup, "would you consider sneaking out a little early?"

"What is with you today?" Cuddy asked, brow furrowed, as a bead of soy milk dribbled down her chin.

"Answer my question."

"Answer mine."

"It's Sunday, we need to get to church."

"You're an atheist and I'm Jewish."

"Oh, that's right," he deadpanned, as if it were all a huge inconvenience. "Forget about church. We'll just have to have sex."

"You're a regular Valentino," she laughed.

"I'm better looking," he said, still in deadpan mode. "Come by my place tonight and I'll make you forget about Valentino."

"What's wrong with my place?"

"There's still two pieces of chocolate cheesecake in there," House answered with a nod at the refrigerator. "And _that_ I just can't compete with."


	26. Chapter 26

"You're late," Cuddy said.

"And you're a woman, but I don't feel the need to point that out every day," House retorted as he limped to elevator.

"What's your excuse this time?" Cuddy asked, following him.

"The dog ate my homework."

"Am I really supposed to believe that?"

"Do you?"

"Not hardly."

"It sounds better than being jumped by a bunch of Amish kids for my lunch money." House turned and smiled as he pushed the 'up' button. "You asked for an excuse, you didn't ask for a _good_ excuse."

"I guess I walked right in to that one," she said thickly with a faint grin.

"Tomorrow I'll say that my alarm didn't go off, my motorcycle wouldn't start, and my tires were slashed. Does that sound better?"

"You have clinic duty today," Cuddy said, tapping her foot and ignoring his sarcasm.

"I'm thrilled."

"You owe me three more hours after today."

"Again, I'm thrilled. If you don't mind I'll just save up all my excitement over clinic duty until the end of the week," he deadpanned. "I wouldn't want to overload myself right now and blow a fuse or two."

The elevator dinged and opened. House stepped in. Cuddy stopped the door.

"My patients are waiting," he said, though they both knew he could care less if he actually had a patient or not.

"Two hours of clinic duty today, Dr. House," she told him in her best authoritative voice, "and three more by Friday."

"Yes, boss." With his cane, he carefully pushed her away from the door. "Don't eat too much cheesecake for lunch and ruin your appetite for me." He winked as the door slid shut.

* * *

Cuddy spent the rest of the day in a blur of files, phone calls, and running from one department to another. Patients wanted this, doctors wanted that, and they all wanted it five minutes ago. It was after six o'clock before she could leave. Her shoes felt like torture devices. She got caught in after-church traffic and had to laugh or else punch out the windshield. 

He answered the door right away, as if he had been standing there for hours, waiting to hear that familiar knock.

She stalked right by him and into the kitchen. He watched quietly as she poured a scotch, drank it in one gulp and poured another.

"Playing hooky doesn't sound so bad now, does it?" House smirked as he capped the scotch and shoved it back in the cabinet.

"Maybe being a responsible adult all the time isn't such a good thing. Everyone wanted something from me today. _Everyone!_ Why does it always have to happen at once? Where do all these people come from?" She threw back the second scotch and scowled.

"The woodwork. The walls. They just fall out of the sky."

"I'm beginning to believe it."

"Wanna play hooky tomorrow?" House had to ask. "I promise not to tell anyone."

"Can't." She scowled again. "I have a meeting, then another meeting, and, oh yeah, a meeting."

"The joys of being in charge," the diagnostician said with amusement, the job of running the entire hospital was not something he ever wanted. Looking after three other doctors was about all he could handle. Being in charge of everything and everyone was enough to give him nightmares.

"Everyone turns to me," she muttered with a tired smile. "Whether I actually have the answer or not."

"Poor Dr. Cuddy. Being good at your job is such a bitch. Take a cue from me every now and then and just say 'to hell with it.'"

"I'll keep that in mind." Cuddy gave him a genuine smile and slipped her arms around him. "Let's play."

"Play what?"

She took a step back and ripped his shirt open to the belt. "You tell me."


	27. Chapter 27

They somehow made it to the bed without tripping over each other. House lost his cane along the way, but that could wait until morning. He didn't plan on going anywhere else for the night. Cuddy's soft skin all over his, her hair tickling his chest, made him gasp and shudder. He let her have her way with him. She was going to anyway, whether he liked it or not. He ended up liking it... a lot.

Truth be told, House preferred to sleep in his own bed. When Cuddy bought her bed she surely didn't count on a moody six-foot-three doctor taking up more than his fair share. The fluffy, girly bedding did nothing for him either, but he knew better than to say anything unless he felt like sleeping on the floor. His no-nonsense bed was made for a tall man. Of course, there was plenty of room to share.

House would probably never know, or ever care to know, how much the restrictions of his leg and his constant pain really bothered Cuddy. Always having to be aware, being careful not to kneel, kick, or put too much weight on it. She would deny it to the bitter end, just as she denied that the awful surgery scar didn't bother her either. She could deny all she wanted. He knew she was lying, whether she truly believed she wasn't or not. Everybody lies. That was fine with him. It was a lie he was more than willing to live with as long as it didn't drive either of them away.

Awake, as usual, the clock casting its eerie green glow while the illumination of the streetlights fought for some space. They were semi-successful, whitewashing the dark furniture of his bedroom. A dull ache began to snake up his leg and wrap itself around his thigh. Barely conscious of it, House snatched up the Vicodin bottle and tipped two into his mouth, dry-swallowing them like he had done a million times before.

Just knowing the pills were in his stomach made him feel better and he let himself drift for a while, just listening to the pleasant sound of Cuddy purring away beside him. He thought of her ripping open his shirt without so much as a word to warn him. A heart-stopping surprise, and he loved it.

The lights made Cuddy out to be nothing more than a jumbled heap of shadows. He edged closer until he felt her hair brush against his shoulder. He curled up into it and could smell the faint flowery scent of the conditioner she used mixed with a trace of perfume. She always smelled like a fresh spring day and he loved that too. House wrapped her heat around himself and closed his eyes.

* * *

Whenever Cuddy was with him, she always made it a point not to disturb her lover. More often than not, he could at least sleep a few hours straight through. But not always.

He hadn't had a good night, turning and mumbling on and off for hours. The blankets twisted up around his waist. Her hand stroked his cheek up to his temple as beads of sweat trickled down.

"No..._wait_..." he muttered and turned away. Still asleep. His eyes moved frantically under their lids and his breath hitched.

"Ssshhh..." Cuddy whispered. "Greg, it's okay."

"_Stop!_" he yelped, jerking awake, eyes wide and scared.

"_Greg!_" she cried, her heart racing with his, clenching his arm to keep him falling out of the bed. She watched as he looked over at her as if he didn't know who she was. His face was the color of ashes.

He shook his head, trying to shake off the nightmare like it was a leaf caught in his hair. It wasn't enough. "Jesus...," the doctor gasped.

"Greg." Cuddy cupped his chin and turned his face to hers. "Greg, it's all right. It was just a dream."

"Jesus...Lisa..." Gradually, the color returned and his breathing slowed to normal.

"What was it?" she asked.

"I don't remember," he answered stonily, obviously not wanting to talk. Probably lying, but she wasn't going to push it. He fell back into the pillow, still a bit spooked.

She stroked his cheek again and he strangely seemed to welcome it instead of pushing her hand away. Nothing was said, she stared at him, he stared into space.

"We can stay here awhile," Cuddy finally said.

He didn't answer, just turned and buried his head in the crook of her neck. She reached and turned off the alarm.


	28. Chapter 28

House trembled for a while as he kept a tight grip around Cuddy, like he was hanging on for dear life. After he dozed off and relaxed, she was able to wriggle loose and get some air. Calmness returned to the room and to House as he finally settled into a somewhat restful sleep, his chin scratching her neck and shoulder. Whatever scared him so badly was gone for the moment.

A cool breeze fluttered against the window shades, folding itself with the whisper of his breathing. The only other movement in the room was Cuddy quietly stroking his neck, willing the calm to remain and the nightmares to stay away. It was the first time she had seen House really and truly frightened. Something she hoped to never see again. But some primal sense told her that simple wishing wasn't going to keep it at bay, like shutting the closet door to make the monster disappear.

Cuddy wanted to stay there all day and give him the comfort he turned to her for, just lay there and feel his breath on her neck and his heart beat with hers. No chance. There was work to be done by a responsible adult. She couldn't play hooky today. Maybe in a few weeks, but not today. She untangled herself from his embrace and reached for the phone. Before hanging up, she could feel him looking at her, his eyes glittering in the warm light. 

"I'm already an hour late," she said as she hung up, not turning around.

"Yes, you are," House said coolly, no any mocking or humor in his voice. There was nothing to mock that morning.

Cuddy slipped off the bed and picked up her clothes. House turned and stretched across the bed. "You're late too," she said, buttoning up her crumpled blouse. 

"I know."

"You will be there." It wasn't a question.

"I will."

"I mean it, Greg," she told him tersely, not in the mood to play around.

"Of course you do," he said, though only his eyes moved as they followed her out the bedroom door.

* * *

She caught sight of House a few times. He was caught up in his newest case, barking orders at his underlings. He looked no worse for the wear as he marched up and down the corridor as fast as his damaged leg would allow, focused on solving a new mystery, a new puzzle. That put her mind at ease for the rest of the day.

An indigo sky had pushed the sun down by the time the Dean of Medicine stepped up to 221B, the shiny black gym bag over her shoulder.

"Hey," House said with a smile as he let her in. He looked a little tired. His eyes stopped on the gym bag. "Moving in?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Sort of," she answered and pivoted to the bedroom.

House followed and found his lover hanging up a few blouses and power suits in his closet. Then she stuffed some of his jeans and shirts into the bag. "Something we should have done months ago," Cuddy answered his quizzical look, zipping up the bag and dropping it on the floor.

"Still stealing my clothes," he said, sitting at the foot of the bed, resting his chin on the cane.

"I don't see you stopping me." Cuddy settled next to him.

"I never said I wanted to. I'm just calling you a thief."

She laughed quietly, then cut to the chase. "What happened last night?"

"I had a nightmare." House answered simply.

"It scared you."

"That's what nightmares do. They scare people. That's why they're called nightmares."

"What was it about?"

"I don't remember."

"Really?"

"I don't remember," he repeated, starting to get frustrated at her questions.

"I think you're lying."

"Maybe I am. Does it matter?"

"You know I'm here if you want to talk about it." Cuddy told him. "I'm here for you no matter what."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to."

"All right," she said. "If you change your mind..."

"You're here," he replied, reaching for the hand on his shoulder. "I know."


	29. Chapter 29

Cuddy glanced over as she stirred the coffee into the cups. The doctor was seated at her table, resting his head against his steepled arms. Every light in the front was on; in the living room, the kitchen, the dining room. In the middle of the night the lights seemed too bright and harsh, casting sharp jagged shadows over every surface.

The last few days had been rather routine and uneventful, with the exception of House losing what fleeting patience he ever possessed with a bloated soccer mom, telling her she was too stupid to spawn. Up until twenty minutes ago, Cuddy had been able to keep House and his barbed tongue more or less in check. Up until twenty minutes ago, the nightmare that had scared him so badly had been pretty much forgotten. House wouldn't talk about it and Cuddy let it drop, figuring it was just a one-time event. Everyone has a nightmare sooner or later. It's just a fact of life. Then twenty minutes ago the diagnostician woke up screaming "_Stop!_ Lisa..._No!_" in her bed, and came within a half-inch of breaking her nose with an errant flailing fist. A dark triangle of sweat stained the front of his grey tee shirt, beads of it glistened along his hairline.

She poured a generous amount of bourbon into the cups and brought them to the table. They sipped quietly at their drinks, waiting for the warmth of the coffee and tinge of the alcohol to hit their bloodstreams and settle the nerves that were frayed to the very last thread. She stole another glance and noted how the ghostly paleness of his skin extended all the way to his fingertips. It took a while but Cuddy finally found the word to describe how House looked–_haunted_.

He tried to pretend that he was thinking of nothing, which was futile. His brow was knitted in concentration and his eyes twitched from side to side, trying to follow the something that had invaded his mind and his sleep, trying to make sense of the senseless. His hands were shaking.

"We're in a corridor," House began suddenly in a flat voice, setting the cup down before he dropped it. Not looking at her. He hadn't looked at her since he sat at the table. "You and me. I'm at one end and you're at the other."

"At the hospital?" she asked cautiously, hoping he wouldn't lash out at her interruption.

He didn't. "It's the hospital, but it's _not_ the hospital. The corridor seems to go on for miles. Just miles and miles of this thing, with hundreds of identical rooms crammed full of thousands of identical patients. They're all yelling at me because I'm the only who can help them. I ignore them because I'm trying to get you to stop and turn around. I'm _screaming_ at you to stop."

"Why?" the Dean of Medicine asked, wanting to hear the answer even though she knew she was going to regret it.

"I'm screaming at the top of my lungs at you," he continued in the same flat voice as if he hadn't heard her. Trying be detached, wanting to be detached, to view it all at a safe distance where it couldn't touch him or hurt him. "But you don't hear me or don't listen. You just look at me and turn and walk away. I'm trying to run, like I can run with this fucking leg. The fucking patients won't let up, they keep yelling at me to treat them, to cure them. I keep screaming 'Stop Lisa, please... goddammit, just stop!' You won't stop, just keep walking, heading to an exit. I can't let you go out that exit or else something terrible is going to happen."

He paused to take another sip of his drink. As he did, he turned towards her a bit and the light hit his eyes. Cuddy's breath caught in her throat when she saw how lifeless his eyes were. Like his batteries had run out. He was completely drained, physically and emotionally.

"I'm still trying to catch you. No matter how fast I go, I can't catch up. You ever try to run with a cane? It doesn't work." House let out strangled emotionless laugh. "You go out the exit and I follow. It's like...goddammit...I'm _screaming_ at you. Why don't you hear me? Why won't you listen to me? Then you walk out into the road and this car comes out of nowhere and...and I can feel it when your blood splatters all over me."

As quickly as he started talking, he stopped as if a button had been pushed. Cuddy could only sit there, unable to get her voice to work. Not that she had anything to say. The rest of her coffee was forgotten, sitting there as still as the rest of the room. House was just as still, like a statue, unmoving. A faint buzz from the lights was the only noise to be heard.

Before she could find some words, House stood up and mumbled, "I don't wanna talk anymore," and limped back to the bedroom without looking back. He hadn't looked at her the entire time he was out there. Eventually, she followed without bothering to rinse out the cups or turn out the lights.

The bedroom door was half closed. She carefully pushed it open, letting enough light into the room to make out the grey in House's tee shirt and pink flowers of the bedspread. The doctor was on his side, facing away. She slid back into the coolness of the sheets and slid up to her lover, resting a hand on his shoulder. His face wasn't visible, but she knew his eyes were wide open. He didn't push her away, but he didn't acknowledge her presence either.

"It's just a nightmare," she said quietly, wanting to give him some alleviation from his horrible dreams, knowing her words would bounce off him like a rubber ball, but she was determined to make him hear them anyway. "Just a nightmare, that's all. It's not going to hurt you."

He didn't want to talk, and wouldn't, just let wanted to feel her. He lay there in her arms for the rest of the night as they listened to each other breath. Neither of them slept.


	30. Chapter 30

House had gone to a place where Cuddy couldn't follow, and probably didn't want to, shuffling the pieces of the nightmare around his head in the hope that they would fall into place like a jigsaw puzzle, form something that could explain whatever significance, if any, it held. Pouring over every bit, every inch, waiting for the answer to jump out. By the time the sun came up he had moved only once to reach for his Vicodin bottle.

It wasn't exactly the opportunity she was looking for to play hooky, nonetheless, Cuddy took it. They both did.

She handed to the phone to House and told him to call up and let the hospital know he wouldn't be in. He mumbled away in the phone until his last sentence when he hissed, "Well, if you don't like that's just _too fucking bad_," and slammed down the receiver. Then he spent the next hour blowing off steam by stalking up and down the hall. She lay there and listened to his footsteps and watched as his shadow roiled in the rectangle patch of light from the doorway with each pass.

He finally gave up or got tired or both and fell back into the bed. An arm wrapped around her and she cried out in surprise as she was suddenly wrestled out of her tranquil half-doze and yanked backwards. "Stay here," House whispered, his voice gravelly with anger and exhaustion. "Just stay here." The nearly suffocating grip squeezing her loosened into an embrace. She relaxed with it and fell asleep as he took her hand and ran his thumb along her soft palm.

She awoke to a shaky feeling from the awareness that it had been at least twelve hours since she had eaten something. She turned over to find House still in her bed, still awake and fighting to stay that way. It was a battle he was slowly but surely letting himself lose.

"You want something to eat?" she asked.

"No." he answered thickly.

"You sure? I'll fix whatever you want."

"I'm not hungry." He turned away, letting her know the conversation was over. The end.

From the kitchen table she looked out at beautiful day. The perfect day to say 'to hell with everything' and lounge around doing absolutely nothing. She silently ate her cereal and wished it was rainy and miserable. A day filled with gloom to match the night filled with dread. The perfect combination. Something to match the black cloud hanging over her and House at the moment.

The two coffee cups finally made it to the dishwasher with the cereal bowl and the lights were finally extinguished. She berated herself for a few seconds for wasting electricity. Just for a few seconds. She felt almost normal again.

Back in the bedroom, House had lost the battle, sleeping with the covers kicked off and an arm hanging down the side of the bed. His skin was still too damned pale, making the dark circles under his eyes look like charcoal smudges or two hard punches delivered--postage due--by his worst enemy. But his breathing was slow and smooth, some of the tension was asleep with him. She opened a window to let some fresh air chase away the staleness that had crept in, and pulled the covers back up to his chest. House didn't stir as she rejoined him under the sheets.

_I lost the battle but not the war. That's what Greg would say_, Cuddy thought as she closed her eyes and hoped to see him in her dreams.

* * *

The long shadows told her it was late afternoon, and the clock proved her correct. The other side of the bed was empty.

She changed into the Ramones shirt and sweatpants, and padded out to the living room. A World War II documentary played on the television. House sat in his spot, looking at the television but not really watching it. His clothes and hair were damp, and Cuddy was afraid of another nightmare. On closer inspection, she could smell the warm water and soap. He had showered.

"Hi," she smiled and settled next to the doctor.

"Hey," he said, and pleased her immensely when he returned her smile.

"You're looking better," she said, and meant it. Color was coming back to his face and his eyes had regained some of their fire. Not really a fire, more like a candle flame, it was still a million times better than the dull lifelessness that had filled them the night before. Whatever sleep he got obviously did some good and she smiled again. "How long have you been up?"

"A while," House replied absently. He probably hadn't looked at the clock and really didn't know the answer. "Is that invitation to fix whatever I want still open?"

"Of course."

"Waffles?"

"I'm out of waffles. How about a sandwich. I've got some turkey."

"It's not any of that crap fake vegetarian tofu shit?"

"No, it's the real thing."

"Okay. Turkey it is. Hold the pickles."

Cuddy fixed him two sandwiches, knowing he was hungry and he'd be more relaxed with a full stomach. He deserved to be relaxed and content for a little. It was just putting off the inevitable. Sooner or later he'd have to close his eyes again, see if the nightmare was still there.


	31. Chapter 31

Cuddy kept a close eye on House and tried not to be too obvious about it. She really didn't have to worry, House was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice, and most assuredly would have said something if he had. For hours he sat quietly and pretended to watch television with Cuddy curled up beside him. The only conversation came from the people in the movies that played, interrupted only by the rattle of the Vicodin bottle.

The diagnostician fought another losing battle to stay awake before he had to call a truce and stumble back to bed, where he fell into a restless slumber. Cuddy was on edge, and his every twitch and jerk woke her up. It wasn't until well into the early hours that she was able to keep her eyes closed simply because she was so worn out.

No nightmares, on that night anyway. Right now that was a very good thing.

They both managed to drag themselves to the kitchen the next morning. House switched on the coffee maker, then took one look at his lover's haggard face and fixed her a bowl of cereal before making his own breakfast. The smell of the frying eggs made Cuddy a bit queasy, not that she was feeling all that hot to begin with.

"I'm keeping you awake," he said as he set a plate of toast and eggs on the table and slid into a chair. A Vicodin was chased with orange juice. "I'll sleep alone tonight."

"Are you going to actually sleep?" Cuddy asked pensively, picturing him pacing around his apartment for hours on end to avoid facing another nightmare. He could probably go for days before collapsing, he had done it before.

House smushed up the eggs and piled them on his overdone toast. "Maybe I will, maybe I won't. There's no reason why _you_ shouldn't. This isn't your problem."

"We're a couple, remember? Your problems are my problems, and vice-versa," she said while aimlessly stirring her Grape Nuts around the bowl. "There's no reason for you to wake up screaming bloody murder."

"I'll be fine. You don't have to worry yourself to death about it."

"You're _not_ fine," she practically spat. "Dreaming of me being mangled by a car is _not fine_. Not fine at all. Something is eating away at you and we need to find out what it is."

"We do?" House frowned. "Can't a nightmare just be a nightmare?"

"Not this time. Is something bothering you, Greg?"

"There's always something bothering me. Feel free to pick any of them, Lisa, and you don't have to pick just one."

"What's bothering you?" Some of House's stubbornness was rubbing off on her. Right now that was a bad thing.

"Let's see..." he sighed, getting annoyed. "There's my leg, and my pain, and the lingering memories of Stacy for starters. Oh, I'm a drug addict too, can't forget that one. But I'm surprised you haven't pointed the obvious."

"Obvious?"

"This is my subconscious giving me a message, telling me that I'm terrified of losing you. Yes, that's obvious, but it's too damned easy," House said with a small tired smile.

The Grape Nuts had turned into a thick gooey mess, but Cuddy kept eating. No words, she quietly waited for him to continue.

"It's never that easy," the doctor said. "It never is, never is. If it was we wouldn't be sitting here talking about. I would have figured it out by now, my subconscious would be satisfied, and we'd be on our merry way."

"You've had this nightmare twice now," the Dean of Medicine told him as if it were breaking news.

"So?"

"You don't get enough sleep as it is and now you're getting scared to sleep because you don't want to have it again. That should tell you something if nothing else."

"Yeah, silly me, that's because there's nothing in this world I love more than seeing the one person I care about getting smashed to pieces right before my eyes." The anger rose in his voice. For a few seconds Cuddy thought he was going to hurl his plate across the room, but he settled back, still gripping his glass so hard his knuckles were white, the bones ready to cut through his skin. "You always have an answer, what is it?"

House waited silently for an answer. The clock ticked the minutes away.

"There has to be something we can do. I'll look into it," Cuddy finally offered and steeled herself for snarky reply that didn't come forward.

"Fine." House said as if it were the answer to everything. "You do that. In the meantime get some sleep because you're going to need it."

The doctors didn't say another word as they finished breakfast.


	32. Chapter 32

With the vivid memories of his nightmare still fresh on his mind, House lounged across his sofa with a bourbon and wished he could erase those memories like a videotape. He could see, smell and feel every graphic detail–the squeaky of his shoes on the tiles of the corridor; the smell of the hospital disinfectant; the cream-colored suit and glittering string of pearls Cuddy was wearing; his own growing panic; then the warm splash and wet coppery smell of blood. It was all so _real_. It was truly disturbing.

_Something is eating away at you and we need to find out what it is._

House didn't want to think about it. But whatever his mind was trying to tell him, if it was trying to tell him anything at all, wasn't about to go away on its own. Still lurking under his bed, waiting to grab his ankle and pull him under. The only real questionwith an actual answer was whether the nightmare would appear again tonight or tomorrow.

_We're a couple, remember? Your problems are my problems, and vice-versa._

When Cuddy hadn't come bursting into his office with her arms full of recurring nightmare research that afternoon, the diagnostician figured his boss had decided to wait until she was home so she could give it her full attention. He could picture her sitting at her home computer for hours on end, glued to the screen, pecking away at the keyboard, pages of printed out articles and notes in her own neat handwriting piled to one side. She'd stay up researching until her eyes began to burn and a migraine pounded her skull, then eat a handful of painkillers and prop her eyelids up with toothpicks while mining the internet for another hour.

_Knock yourself out, Lisa_, House thought as he swallowed his drink and refilled the glass.

It was still early evening, bedtime was a million miles away, but the thought of what might be waiting for him in those dark hours made his stomach sour. The panic, the screaming, the blood. Waking up bathed in sweat, heart pounding out of his chest. He longed for the days when the content of his dreams remained an unremembered mystery. That was a small price to pay compared to the ripe slice of hell that had played out twice now. That was pure paradise compared to this.

_Is something bothering you, Greg?_

Something was not necessarily bothering him, but something was almost always on his mind. His pain, his all but useless leg, his pill supply being cut off, answers to a case eluding him in one way or another, various major and minor annoyances of life. These were hanging around the maze of House's brain, one or all, at any given time.

_This is my subconscious giving me a message, telling me that I'm terrified of losing you._

He was terrified of losing Cuddy, he knew and she knew it all too well. It was his worst nightmare, a nightmare now threatening to take over his every waking moment. But House didn't need some bizarre subconscious mind game to tell him something he already knew with amazing technicolor clarity.

It was a mystery all right. One that could push him over some invisible edge into a real living, breathing nightmare if he didn't solve it real damn quick.

* * *

House nibbled on a pizza crust and uneasily eyed the mountainous stack of articles and notes Cuddy had brought to his apartment. He had only glanced through it, as they decided to eat before diving into it, and the papers were filled with all the Freud and Jung psycho-babble he had slept through in high school and college. But there had to be a reason for psychiatrists and psychologists and various other headshrinkers to justify their existence, so the doctor surmised there was a nugget or two of useful information amid the dozens of pages of pure unadulterated idiocy. 

The last two days had been relatively peaceful. No bad dreams, and House had more or less slept well, even if he had to sleep alone. Cuddy had caught up on her sleep as well, and had brought the results of her newly restored energy in the armload of papers sitting on his table. She was leafing through a dream dictionary when House glanced up and caught the title emblazoned in bright red font across the spine.

"What the hell is _that_?" he said with open disgust. "Now I've seen it all."

"It's just a book, Greg. Don't panic."

"Do you really believe that crap? Should I call Miss Cleo now?"

She set the book aside before he snatched it and ripped the pages into confetti. "No, but it might be worth a look."

"Did you bring the tarot cards, Lisa? Is it time to chant and draw the pentagram on the floor?"

"Enough, Greg. It doesn't have the answer, I know, but it might tell us _something_; point us in the right direction."

"_Us_," he smirked and finished his Pepsi.

"Are you making fun of me?" Cuddy said with a slight frown, her eyes shadowed with discontent.

"No. I just like being referred to as an 'us'. There was a time, not all that long ago, when I thought I'd never hear that again."

The frown transformed into a face splitting grin. "Well...," she stuttered, taken aback for a moment. "I'm glad to hear you say that."

"For you, I'll say anything," he said, his expression telling her that she was definitely spending the night. Then he brushed the crumbs off his lap turned his attention back to the stack of papers that seemed taller than he was. They appeared to go on forever. Cuddy obviously took this _pro bono_ project to heart. "Okay, where do we start?"


	33. Chapter 33

According to Cuddy's dream dictionary, blood represents love, passion and life. House made a crack about there being nothing more passionate than having her "vitality" splashed all over him while she bounced off a car and turned back to his reading.

He really wasn't interested in interpretations and meanings and hidden clues of every tiny detail; he just wanted the damn dream to go away. Let Cuddy scour the land for the symbolism and nitpick it all she wanted. She was going to anyway. He scowled and scanned the pages for something that had at least a crumb of medical relevance.

"Many researchers believe that nightmares are a mirror of reality and that means there's something that needs to be resolved," Cuddy suddenly spoke up.

"Some people believe the world is flat and other people believe that a monster lives in a lake in Scotland. That doesn't mean it's real," House responded, his eyes moving over the pages faster and faster, trying to find something he could relate to. He focused on an article about lucid dreaming and began to read with real interest since it involved details on how the dreamer could take control of the dream.

"What do you believe?"

"I believe in what I can see."

"So what do you see?"

"I see that as long as my feet are on the ground, the world could be triangle for all I care. And as long as the monster doesn't end up in my bathtub, I really don't care about that, either. It doesn't impact my life one way or the other." He glanced over at Cuddy, her holding that damned silly dictionary. "If I were dreaming of, say, being eaten by a horde of fluffy little kittens, would you show this much interest?"

"Killer kitties? How much Vicodin have you had today, Greg?"

"Just answer the question."

Furrowing her eyebrows, she asked, "Would you wake up screaming?"

"For the sake of argument, let's say yes."

"Of course I would," she answered immediately, a bit puzzled. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I think the nightmare disturbs you almost as much as it disturbs me. The only way it would disturb you more is if you were dreaming it yourself. The fact that it involves _you_ only makes it seem more _threatening_ than it really is. Are you afraid it's going to come true, Lisa?"

"In some form, maybe," Cuddy frowned. The book in her hand was forgotten for the moment. "Aren't you?"

"No, I'm not. Maybe dreams do mirror reality, but they aren't reality. You being hit by a car means something, you being hit by a car in the future isn't what it means."

"I hope not," she replied, though House could tell a tiny part of her did worry about that very thing.

"Haven't you looked up 'death' in that dream dictionary of yours yet?"

"I was just getting to it. I thought you weren't interested in this stuff."

"Not really. I'm amused that you are though, a student of hard science and medicine like yourself. Stuff that relies on the cold hard _facts_. Does the definition read, "Lisa Cuddy is going to be pulverized by a rogue dream car?"

"No...," she looked flustered.

"What does it say about the whole death thing? I'd like to know."

She flipped through the pages, searching through dozens of other words starting with the letter D. House only saw a blur of paper and ink from where he was sitting. "There are several definitions here. Death of a loved one symbolizes worry over that person's well-being–"

"Gosh, that's a shocker," he snorted. "Any moron with an IQ hovering around room temperature could figure that one out."

"And it may also mean that you are lacking a certain quality the loved one represents."

"What the hell...?" His mouth flopped open like a fish and Cuddy couldn't help but smile a little. "Are you looking at the right thing?"

She handed the book over. "Read it for yourself."

House read it over, and read it again. "So...unless this means I wish to become a Jewish woman, I don't know what significance that has."

"I do," she said. "So tell me, Greg, what quality do you see in me that you wished you possessed. And why does it bother you so much?"

"Goddammit, Lisa...," he trailed off. "Let's try to find someone that has some sort of real world meaning to it first, and if all else fails, maybe I'll look up what being mauled to death by kittens means." He turned back to the article on lucid dreaming with a grunt.

"Greg?"

He didn't look up, pretended not to listen, but she continued, "Are there qualities you admire about me?"

"You already know the answer to that," he said.

"Yes, I do. But I'd still like to hear what they are."


	34. Chapter 34

"I can make a list of all your wonderful qualities if you want," House smirked. "You can take it home and hang it on the fridge. Or tack it to a bulletin board at the hospital."

"You aren't going to tell me?" Cuddy asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't feel like it right now," he said simply, as if that vague answer explained everything.

"Not even one little quality?" She gently bumped his leg with her foot. The red polish on her toes caught his eye, tearing his attention away from the article.

House looked over with a grin. "Make us a cup of coffee and I might be persuaded."

"Just one cup?"

"One cup for the couple."

As Cuddy disappeared into the kitchen, House continued to peruse the article, then looked around the stack hoping to find more information on lucid dreaming. Information he could use and hopefully put an end his nightmares, the one in his sleep and the one it was causing for himself and Cuddy in their waking lives. Twice was more than enough. He didn't even want to think about a third time. That was a nightmare in itself, waiting in a dark corner.

A shadow floated over his papers. Cuddy stood over him, taking the first sip.

"You _always_ take the first sip," House remarked as she handed over the cup.

"That's because I _always_ make the coffee," she pointed out, sitting closer to him on the sofa.

"You make a great cup of coffee. That's one quality I admire about you." He continued to leaf through the papers, tossing away the ones that were filled with worthless new-age trash.

"That's nice to hear," she said dryly as he handed the cup back. "Now how about something worth admiring."

"Suzy Homemaker skills aren't enough?"

"Not for me, or for you. As you would say, any moron can stir stuff into hot water."

"You're not afraid to be with someone like me, not afraid of 'guilt by association'. Is that enough to mollify you for a while, boss?"

"For a while," she smiled. "But you pull a 'great cup of coffee' thing again, you're going to write that list, sign it, and hang it in your office. Now what are you reading about?"

"Lucid dreaming. Knowing you're dreaming while dreaming and controlling what goes on."

"I didn't get a chance to really look through it," Cuddy snatched a few of the papers from his lap. "Sounds like what you're looking for."

"A dream come true," the diagnostician muttered and turned back to the papers, shuffling for another useful nugget of information.

* * *

"Wake up! Greg, _wake up_!" She frantically groped for the lamp and found the switch. 

"Don't go out there...don't..._don't_...," Pleading in his sleep. Knowing what was going to happen and being unable to stop it. The panic in his voice turned her blood to ice.

Grabbing his arm and shaking him frantically, Cuddy continued her own pleading, "C'mon Greg, wake up!" Her fingers slipped on the sweat that covering him, soaking into the pillowcase.

His eyes remained tightly shut despite her loud protestations. "_Lisa, turn around, please_..." he sobbed, still in the throes of the nightmare he wasn't able to control, not yet.

Cuddy couldn't let it go on for another second. He couldn't hear or feel her through the thick layers of sleep and the nightmare. Shaking, though she knew it was the right thing, she drew back her hand and whispered, "Please forgive me," before slapping him across the face with everything she had.

His eyes flew open and he froze in place, thefrantic panting, chest heaving up and down as he tried to catch his breath was the only movement. Their eyes locked, Cuddy sitting up, still shaking with her hand clamped over her mouth, House lying on his back. A look of shock covered his face like a wet blanket. Whether it was from the nightmare or the slap wasn't known to her. The Dean of Medicine's gaze shifted to palm-shaped mark on his face as it filled with red.

"I'm sorry," she eventually said, voice cracking as hot tears flowed and trickled down to her jaw.

Shock slowly melted into simple bewilderment and relief as House finally spoke. "You were at the door...still not listening. You were at the door, but you didn't go through it. I woke up before...you and the car...I didn't have to see that. I didn't have to see that, thank you..."

"You were crying out again. It was terrible, watching you like that. I had to wake you up." More tears as she broke and let them flood.

"You slapped me," he scowled, carefully tracing his musicians fingers over the growing welt. "Goddamn, you _slapped_ me. Hard."

"I was yelling at you to wake up, but you wouldn't," Cuddy tearfully replied as she reached for the tissues.

"So you slapped me," he said again in a flat voice, pouring all his surprise and disbelief into this one event.

"I didn't want to, I–" The sobs strangled her voice and cut off the words.

"I know," House told her, now strangely calm, reaching for his pills. "I know. Given a choice, which I seem to have now, I'll take the slap. That's a million times better than the car. Anything is better than that damned car." Two Vicodin were swallowed to chase away the ever-constant pain and any lingering scraps of the nightmare.

"I'm sorry–"

"Stop. You don't have to say anything else. Neither of us has to say anything else, except maybe we should start keeping a glass of water by the bed. More wet, but less painful. Now turn out the light and get over here."

"Greg, are you–"

"Lisa, I'm not mad at you. Just turn off the light."

The light clicked off and the covers ruffled as she slid over, collapsing on his chest. His heartbeat was still fast, but steady and reassuring, as was the arm around her back. She closed her eyes and hoped he could close his soon enough with having to worry about what was lurking behind them. A few remaining tears leaked out and dribbled onto his shirt.

"I'm sorry," Cuddy whispered, knowing full well he didn't want to listen to her anymore.

"I heard you, Lisa. It's okay."


	35. Chapter 35

"What happened to your face?" Wilson asked, examining the hand-shaped mark left by Cuddy like it was an interesting exhibit at a trade show. It was several lovely shades of red and purple. "Finally piss off the wrong person?"

"Things got a little rough with Lisa last night," House answered without bothering to look up from his desk. Too busy surfing the net to pay full attention to his late-morning visitor.

"Are there claw marks on your back? Wait, don't answer that. You don't have to say anymore" The oncologist blushed and turned away, trying to think of anything that would get the bloodcurdling image of House, Cuddy and handcuffs out of his head. He had to forget about that or else he'd be wide awake for days.

"It wasn't the fun kind of rough, you pervert."

"It wasn't? Then what happened? Were you two fighting?" Wilson's face collapsed into a frown.

"No."

"So what is it? Did you trip or something and she couldn't catch you and wound up slapping you instead?"

"No, nothing like that."

"But Cuddy did hit you."

"Yes, that she did."

With a tilt of his head, the younger doctor focused all of his attention on his friend. Um...House, is there something you want to tell me?" he asked quietly. Concern dripped out of each and every pore.

"No, there isn't," House answered with a calm and even voice, all the while pecking away at his laptop. "This is between me and Lisa, as in it's none of your damn business and you really don't want to know."

"I never thought Cuddy would do something like–"

"She _didn't_." The diagnostician's head snapped up, a storm brewing behind his eyes. "If you even _think_ about accusing her of something like that ever again, you're going to have a matching smack on your face from _me_, plus a few extra."

Wilson let that remark run around his brain for a few beats. "So you're saying she smacked you for a good reason?"

"_Exactamundo_, dear Wilson. You get a gold star."

"And it had nothing to do with fighting, abuse, or sex?"

"You forgot flying ashtrays. They weren't involved either."

"She hit you, but everything is just fine."

"Yes, everything is. Thank you."

"I don't believe you."

"Then don't," the older doctor replied with well-practiced apathy.

"There's never a good reason to hit someone."

"Especially a cripple, am I right? Before you call the authorities and have Lisa hauled away in shackles, why don't you get the story from her, since you won't leave it well enough alone no matter what I say."

"I will," Wilson said firmly. "I'd like to get her side of the story."

"By all means. She should be the one to tell it since I was asleep when she hit me." House smirked at his friend's wide-eyed shock. The only thing missing was Wilson's hair standing on end. "It was my wake-up call, so to speak. Tell Lisa I said hello."

* * *

"The panic in his voice was terrible," Cuddy went on as the oncologist hung on to her every word, fascinated by the tale that unfolded. "Believe me, it was the last thing in the world I wanted to do, but I couldn't stand to listen to it for another second, and I couldn't let Greg go through that nightmare again." 

Wilson looked at the fatigue that enveloped his boss and knew every letter of every word she spoke was true. "He wasn't mad at you?"

"No, believe it or not. He was shocked, not that I could hardly blame him for _that_. Then he thanked me for waking him up before the grand finale. The way he wakes up screaming, I guess my slapping him would be the lesser of two evils."

"He really wakes up screaming?"

"Screaming, shaking, dripping with sweat."

"Damn..."

"It just started right out of the blue, like it fell out of the sky and into his head."

"He's turned into a case. Another mystery for him to solve," Wilson remarked languidly, knowing his friend was going to turn over every rock for a clue.

"You got that right. There's still a whole mountain of articles and papers in his apartment that he's going to look through tonight. He even broke down and looked at stuff from Freud on the internet for a couple of hours this morning," Cuddy said.

"Freud? Now that's funny."

"What's funny?"

"House and Freud? You must be joking."

"Dr. Wilson," the Dean of Medicine said in a low, stony voice as she leaned forward to her guest with narrowed, cold eyes. "If you could look into his eyes when he wakes up, you'd see this is hardly a joke to him or to me. Now get the hell out of my office."


	36. Chapter 36

_A/N: I was in the mood to write some fluff. So sue me._

* * *

"It's just a love tap," House explained to his underlings as they all but dragged him under a microscope to study the smack that was turning into a bruise. He took his spot by the whiteboard as the other doctors parked themselves in the chairs. The faint scent of lemon Pledge still clung to the table 

"More like a first round love TKO," Cameron smirked, nearly splitting her face wide open. "Is it a love tap because you tapped out?"

"Really." Chase shook his blonde mane in agreement . "If that's just a love tap, I'd hate to see her get truly mad at you."

"Cuddy's just marking her territory," the older doctor smirked back. "I'm now officially off limits."

"Explain 'off limits'," Cameron requested as she leaned into the table, turning her full attention to her boss.

"It means that if you even think about touching me, you're going to get shocked by the electric fence that surrounds me," House spoke to the immunologist in his best condescending teacher voice. He smiled even wider as she shot him a brief but noticeable dirty glance. "Translation: I'm with someone else, Cameron. Too bad, so sad."

"Cuddy has tied you up?" Chase asked. "Sounds like fun."

"I'm tied up on odd days," House clarified for the Australian. "She's tied up on even days. It's only fair."

Foreman looked his boss over, wondering if he was serious. "Does Cuddy always give her territory a shiner?"

"What can I say?" House answered. "She's very territorial about her hospital and everyone in it.."

"Are you going to tell us how you really got that shiner?" Foreman wondered.

The diagnostician told his employees, "Ask Cuddy, since I really wasn't awake for the crowning moment."

"What?" Cameron scrunched up her face in confusion.

"Just ask Cuddy. Tell her I sent you," House said.

"When can we expect our love taps?" Chase asked. "There should be enough to go around for everyone. We're part of the hospital too."

"Love taps are reserved for Cuddy's very special friends," House said with a devilish grin. "I'm afraid her 'special friend' quota is over the limit for the time being. Until then you all will have to settle for branding iron. She's ready whenever you are."

* * *

"I'm a marked man, thanks to you," House said as Cuddy closed her front door. 

"Yes, I had more than a few questions about my 'love taps' all afternoon." The front door shut and locked. The lady doctor followed him to the living room. "Why was I elected to be the official storyteller today?"

"I literally slept through most of it," he said as he settled into his spot on the couch, spinning his cane. "My side of the story doesn't really count. You're storyteller by default."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. By the way, I was serious about the glass of water thing. The smacking thing works, but if this keeps up I'll look like I pissed off Sean Penn by the end of the week."

"I can handle water if you can handle it. I'll keep some towels nearby too."

"Always thinking of me."

"You know I do," Cuddy smiled as she took a seat beside him.

"Mmmmm...slapping me awake, promising to throw water on me, what more could a guy ask for?"

"You're not mad at me for what I did last night?"

"No, you're mad at yourself. I guess you could classify me as grateful."

"Grateful? Really?" She didn't want the skepticism to slip out, but it slid under the radar anyway.

If House noticed, he was hiding it well. "I'd rather wake up surprised than wake up terrified."

"Good point," she agreed.

"You better believe it."

"So what was with the whole 'marking my territory' thing?"

"Cameron still wants me," he answered. "Just letting her know odd of her getting in my pants were slim. I can't help it if I'm such a babe-magnet."


	37. Chapter 37

"Coming to bed?" Cuddy asked quietly, steam from the shower still whirling around her. The sweet, flowery scent of her bodywash wafted over and settled all around House. He loved the smell of that bodywash on her, not that he would say it out loud. Then she would make him use it.

"Eventually," he answered. The television was distracting him.

"How long will eventually be?"

"However long eventually decides to take." He had helped himself to her red wine. He sipped away while _Cold Case Files_ played to the still room. His sneakers were still laced tightly on his feet even though it was well after ten o'clock.

"Who's going to win the grudge match tonight?" Cuddy came around, wrapping a fluffy pink towel around her dripping hair. House could still see more steam puff up from her skin. "The insomnia or the nightmare?"

"Neither," he said, refilling his wine glass to the brim. "The fight has been called off."

"By who?"

"By _me_. I'll have to reschedule."

She took the bottle and put it back in the cabinet. The diagnostician glanced at her but said nothing. His feet plopped on the table and were pushed off in five seconds. He tried again and she kicked his good, being extra careful to make sure it was his good leg. She captured his stare and held it with a tight grip. "Drinking your troubles away, Greg? Has that ever worked before?"

"I wanted something to drink, that's all. Last I heard that wasn't a crime."

"Coming to join me when you're finished stealing and drinking all my wine?"

"Miss me that much, Lisa? If you're just dying to have my strong arms embrace you during the night, why don't you just say so."

"Okay," she grinned. "I say so."

House grinned back. "Well then, who am I to say no to that?" The wine was finished in three gulps.

* * *

The strong smell of disinfectant made his stomach turn. The harsh light burned his eyes and made his head pound. Voices around him, the patients. Thousands of patients. They needed his help. He paid no attention. They weren't real. He didn't have to worry them, and he wouldn't. They didn't matter. Not anymore. They never did. 

She was walking ahead, as usual. Not listening to him or anyone else. Not turning around. Her heels clicked on the floor and echoed down the corridor.

"Turn around. I said turn around!" he yelled, straining his throat. Panic begin to rise. He didn't want to go through this again.

She stopped walking down the corridor but kept her back to him.

"Don't go out that door, Lisa. Whatever you do, don't go out that door."

"Why?" she asked.

"You know why," he answered, limping closer. His shoes squeaked on the tile.

"The car. Is that what you're afraid of, Greg?"

"I'm afraid of what the car will do. I can't stop it. But I can stop you from going out there."

"You can?"

"Yes, I can." House grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "You're not going anywhere. Turn around."

"Why should I?" All he could see was her long black hair cascading down the back of her cream colored suit.

"Because I said so. Now do it." His voice was stern and serious. There was nothing to joke about. He didn't want to go through this again, he didn't want Cuddy to go through it again. No more slaps, no splashing water all over his sleeping form, no more waking up drenched in sweat. It was now or never. He had to end it.

"What is this?" he demanded. "Why is this happening?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do. Tell me!"

"You already have the answer. All you have to do is look."

"What is it? Lisa, tell me, _please_."

"I don't have to. You already know." She turned to face him. Her eyes glittered under the light, shades of green, purple, and yellow turned round and round like pinwheels. It was like looking into a living kaleidoscope. Gold and silver threads wove through her hair, coiling and circling in every conceivable direction.

"Know what?" He took her hand.

"You already know," she said, turning away.

House awoke as the first faint traces of morning broke across the sky. Birds chirped away while a light breeze shook the window shades. His lover was curled up beside him, wearing the Jim Morrison shirt. She was still sleeping. She wasn't awake and terrified for him. That brought a tiny smile, tugging at the corners of his mouth. He watched her for a while, enjoying the feeling of the warmth of her body where it was touching his, then drifted off again as he wrapped his arms around her.


	38. Chapter 38

Cuddy opened her eyes and blinked at the milky sunlight filtering through the curtains. Tree branches cast their crooked shadows all the while gently swaying in the breeze. Morning again, that was hardly a newsworthy event, so what was tugging at the back of her mind? Her still bleary eyes happened on the night table. The glass of water sat untouched beside the alarm clock. She looked over to see Gregory House slumbering away on his back with his head listing toward her, one arm curled up and resting on his chest.

Watching him sleep was her simple pleasure, a guilty pleasure, a time she shamelessly reveled in whenever it presented itself in one or the other's bed. She settled on her side, propped up on her elbow, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest and listening to his muted breathing. No bad dreams, no waking up terrified in the middle of the night, just fast asleep under her pale yellow sheets. These tranquil moments in the day, far and few between, she couldn't get enough of them.

Carefully, she edged a bit closer and lightly stroked the hair along his temple, running her thumb down his cheek where his beard scratched at her skin like a cats tongue. Not pushing her hand away. Another fleeting minute or two she relished.

His hand wrapped around her wrist before she knew what was happening, his blue eyes opened, meeting her own.

"What are you doing, Lisa?" he muttered thickly into the room now filling with the sunlight from a promised beautiful day.

"Watching you," she answered, not knowing what else to say, a bit angry that she woke him up. She dimly wondered if he could her heart pounding in her chest. Caught off guard, her heart raced a mile a minute.

"Watching me?" he puzzled, clearly not expecting that statement.

"Yes, I was watching you. So what?"

"You were touching me."

"So?"

"What for?"

"Because I wanted to," she said, seeing no need to lie to him at the moment. He would see right through it anyway.

"See anything interesting while you were watching and touching me?" he asked with a tiny grin and let go of her wrist. His gaze shifted for a few seconds to the fluttering curtains, then returned to his lover. Her long dark curls fell over Jim Morrison.

"A man getting some much needed sleep."

"Is that all?" He seemed privately amused. "Is a sleeping man really that fascinating?"

"Andy Warhol thought so."

"We're a million miles away from being asexual pop artists. Tell me what else you saw."

"Greg House undisturbed by his nightmare." Her hand came back up and brushed his temple. He closed his eyes for a moment in appreciation, then pushed the covers back and sat up. "You seem relieved, more relieved than me," he said.

"I'm not going to argue with that," she told him.

"Even if I told you I did dream that little dream last night?"

Cuddy frowned. "You did? But how–"

"Those quacks are on to something with that whole lucid dreaming thing. Now there's something I thought I'd never have to admit," House said with a quiet chuckle.

"Why didn't you wake up screaming bloody murder?" Now she was puzzled over how he could be in a relatively good mood if what he was telling her was even halfway true.

"It wasn't a nightmare, it was just a dream."

"You were able to control it?" she gasped.

"More or less. I had a little conversation with you." He turned to her, his expression tired and blank. Later she would punish herself for waking him up, but for now she was fascinated with what she was hearing.

"Well...um, Greg, what did I say?"

"That I already have the answer. All I have to do is look."

"Have you looked?"

"No. I don't have to look for what's right in front of me."

"What's the answer? Tell me."

"The answer doesn't matter," he said and smiled. "What matters is that I don't have to worry about it anymore."


	39. Chapter 39

"You don't have to worry about it anymore either," House said with an unmistakable tone of satisfaction in every word he spoke. "Just how great does that sound, boss?"

"It sounds wonderful, but are you really so sure about that, Greg?" Cuddy asked with a raised eyebrow. "A little early to declare victory, don't you think?"

"Hmmmmm...Lisa, do I detect a note of doubt in your pretty little voice?"

"I know you believe it, Greg, but are you really sure?"

"I can't say that I've never been so sure of anything in my life," he replied, "but let's say this might make it into the top twenty."

"Let's give it a few days before we starting celebrating. Do you think you can handle that?"

"I say we celebrate now," he grinned as he gathered her in his arms. "We won't know if I'm wrong until much later anyway."

Cuddy couldn't help but smile back. "And what if you're wrong? What then?" she asked while stroking his hair, loving his frisky mood.

"Then I have another nightmare and we'll see how long I can stand having a glass of water thrown on me."

"No more love taps for you, Greg?"

"Not right now, thanks," House chuckled. Cuddy was honestly surprised that he could joke about and not hold it against her. The love tap was now a full-fledged shiner. He would probably scream when he finally got a glance of himself in the mirror.

"I say three times with the water before you think of something else."

"I'll make it four just to prove you wrong."

"And then what?"

"Then I'll think of something else," House answered. "Until then I say we spend the day in bed, how about you? How does that sound? Sounds good to me. I can't think of a better way spend this beautiful afternoon."

"You know we can't do that," Cuddy said with a slight scowl. "Not today."

"Please," he pleaded, begging with his voice as well as his eyes.

"We can't"

"_Pretty please_."

"Not today," she repeated. "I'll look and see if I can make a special day off just for us. Will that do?"

"You promise?"

"Of course. It may not happen for a while, though."

"How long is a _while_?" the diagnostician asked as his fingers tangled in her curls. One of these days his fingers may become wrapped up so tight that she'll have to cut her hair to get him free.

"It might be a few weeks."

"Too long. Not good enough."

"That's the best I can do, Greg," she informed him solemnly. "Beggars can't be choosers. Take it or leave it."

"I'll take it. Beggars need something to keep them going."

"I always keep my promises."

"I'm going to hold you to it. You better believe that."

"I believe it."

"I know you do. I say we rehearse for our day off," he smirked, tugging at her tee shirt.

Swatting at his roaming hands, she said, "How about we have breakfast and get ready for work?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

"Then breakfast sounds absolutely positively wonderful."

"I knew it would. Care for some pancakes today?"

"Yummy. Pancakes would be fantabulous."

"Great! Take a shower and I'll get breakfast ready."

"Yes, mistress."


	40. Chapter 40

The last few nights had been exhausting to say the least, and the fact they both managed to get a decent amount of sleep was pure joy. She could only hope what House said about his nightmare was true, that neither of them had to worry about it anymore. He was enough of a handful. Right now they could both use a break from bad dreams and carry on with healing the sick without any unwelcome distractions, real or imagined.

As the dull roar of the shower wandered down the hall and into the bedroom, Cuddy stretched and glanced over to mirror and bureau where her wall calender was tacked. Twelve full months of Claude Monet. This month _La Promenade_ stared back down at her. She wasn't particularly fond of that painting, in her humble opinion the colors were too dull and drab. Next month was _The Floating Ice_, her second only to _Poplars on the Epte_ in terms of favorites. However, she wasn't really interested in impressionism at the moment. She looked back to over the days to make sure hadn't forgotten some dentist appointment marked down six months before, and to see when she could schedule a special day off for just the two of them. Hopefully there would be time in the next few weeks. He would bug her to death until she finally marked it down.

A red slash marked a day, it marked one day on every month. The chaos from Greg and his nightmares had caused to her all but lose track of time when it came to her life outside the hospital. The red slash marked a Saturday, four days ago. The calender told her that she really missed something. Either time decided to stop this month or their lives just might be thrown into another kind of chaos.

* * *

The pancakes were light and fluffy, just the way House likes them. She watched from the corner of her eye as he devoured eight pancakes to her three, pausing only to wash it all down with a gulp of orange juice. When he was really hungry all table manners ceased to exist and she honestly wondered if he spent his early years being raised in a barn. The only thing missing was him licking the plate clean.

He deserved to know the truth, but she wanted to know his true feelings first. She plunged. "Greg?"

"Hmmm?" He limped over to the counter and switched on the coffee maker.

"Was there ever a time you thought about getting married and having a family?"

"Married...family?" House tilted his head at her. "As in a wife and kids? _Me_? I can only hope you're joking, Lisa."

"I'm not joking. Kids, wife, that's what usually makes a family."

"And a dog. Can't forget the dog."

"Answer the question, did you?"

He could see she was serious and wondered what the hell she was up to. "No, not really," House said, hoping that was end of it.

"Why not?" she continued, dragging out more questions. Luck wasn't on his side that day.

"Why are you asking me about marriage and families and kids?" House asked, a bit of tension creeping into his voice.

"I want to know how you feel about them," Cuddy answered as she turned around in her chair to face him. He stood by the coffee maker as it gurgled away, making the entire kitchen smell like a Starbucks.

"Did I miss some unforseen deadline, Lisa? Was I supposed to have produced a ring by now?"

"No, Greg. When you were with Stacy, did you want to have a family with her?"

"The thought may have crossed my mind once or twice," he said, looking over her shoulder at the tree branches scraping the window, then focused back on his boss. "Then a funny thing happened to my leg and Stacy walked out on me. We never got a chance to play Happy Family."

"Were you going to marry her?"

"No, and I'm not going to marry you, either," he said curtly. He carefully watched for an expected crushed reaction, preparing for the worst, and didn't see one.

"I'm not asking you to marry me."

"You're asking for something. What is it?"

"How do you feel about families and kids?" she asked, making no effort walk on eggshells with the subject. "I want to know, so please tell me."

"I don't want a family and I don't like kids. In case you haven't noticed I'm not exactly daddy material." He poured himself some coffee and limped back to the table. "There, are you satisfied now? Can we talk about something else?" he asked testily while lowering himself back into the chair.

"No."

Glaring over the cup, he asked, "Why? What the hell do you want now?"

"I'm late."

"Late for what?"

"My period," she answered simply while watching his eyes get as big as silver dollars.


	41. Chapter 41

"How late is late?" House asked slowly and carefully, staring into the endless nether regions of his cup, avoiding her eyes.

"Four days." Cuddy matched his slow and calm tone, hoping this news, though not definitive, wouldn't set him off.

"That's bad, isn't it?"

"Yes, you could say that."

"That's a long time when it comes to something like this. Your period has never been late in your entire life?"

"Not this late," she said. "I'm like clockwork. If it's late, it's only a day or two. I've never been this late."

"Clockwork? Always?"

"Always. I've never skipped a month."

"So now that you are very late, very very late, it automatically means you're pregnant."

Cuddy was glad to note that, at least for the moment, there wasn't any anger in his voice. Just calmness and a hint of curiosity. "I could be. Right now I just haven't had my period this month."

"You might be pregnant with my child," he said with resignation.

"Yes, Greg."

"Why are you telling me this if you're not sure yet?"

"You deserve to know the truth."

"Do I?" he smirked, and met her gaze with a hint of coldness. "I see. I'm such a fine upstanding member of society. Everyone is standing in line to be my friend. Yes, I do deserve the truth served on a solid gold platter. Now that you've heard about what I think about wives and families and children, what do you think I really truly deserve? "

"_Goddamn you, Greg_," she hissed in a voice that told House all the years of Cuddy turning the other cheek when it came to ignoring his sarcasm, arrogance, and misanthropy, she wasn't going to turn one last time. The floodgates opened and he was going to drown thanks to one mistimed comment. "I've been there for you, cleaned up your messes, stood up for you when you sure as hell didn't deserve it, and this is the thanks I get? I might be carrying _your_ child, a part of _you_, and now I can clearly see it means absolutely nothing."

"Whoa...wait just one goddamn minute." House turned and shivered at her frigid stare and welling eyes. "Don't you _dare_ start putting words in my mouth, Lisa, and don't you _ever_ say anything like that about me again."

"You just told me you don't like children."

"Yeah, that's right. I don't," he replied, leaning into the table. "All those children have never been one of mine."

"So now you want a family, Greg?" The sarcasm in her voice hit him like a sucker punch.

"Lisa, stop it."

"All set to play Daddy now? Gonna go buy a video camera and a baseball glove for the little one?"

"So help me, Lisa, if you don't stop talking to me like that..." Cuddy could see it was taking everything he had to not blow up and she backed off a bit. "You asked me a question and I gave you an honest answer. Now you know how I feel," he said.

"Yes, you were honest," she agreed. "Your blunt honesty isn't always what I want to hear."

"Up until now I've neverfaced the possibility of an instant family landing in my lap.

"You're not sure if you can handle it," Cuddy said, the sarcasm thankfully gone, replaced with quiet resignation of her own.

"Exactly."

"You're overwhelmed by the thought."

"Yeah, you could say that."

"I wasn't thinking about that. I'm sorry, Greg."

"Save it for something worth being sorry about."

"I'll let you know as soon as I'm sure. I promise."

"Yes, please, that would be nice. And can we stop fighting over something that we're not sure about yet?"

"Okay, okay. You're right," she sighed. "Can I ask you one more question?"

"What?" he said warily.

"If I am pregnant, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

"You really don't, do you?"

"No."

"Thank you for your honesty."

"You're welcome. Whatever the results turn about to be, we definitely have something to talk about tonight."


	42. Chapter 42

On the way to the hospital, she stopped at a drugstore and bought a pregnancy test.

Cuddy's mind was going a mile a minute, thinking of all the future scenarios that might come to be. She couldn't even concentrate enough to gloat when Wilson stopped by her office to apologize. Five minutes later she couldn't remember what the hell he apologized for.

One of the perks of being Dean of Medicine was having a small private bathroom in her office. It was the size of a telephone booth, but she wasn't the type to demand a whirlpool bath made from Italian marble. Her little bathroom was a blessing on days when she was chained to her desk, filling out reams of paperwork. And on days when she wanted her privacy. This was between her and House. The rest of the hospital could live without knowing.

She carefully read the directions, carefully read the directions again so she wouldn't screw it up, used the test and got the results.

House wasn't in his office. She had him paged.

He was in her office in less than five minutes. That was record time for him. He knew why he was there. There was no need to waste the effort and ask.

She showed him the test results.

He glanced from the results to Cuddy to the results again. His expression remained like an Easter Island statue. "How accurate are these things?" he asked, his voice soft and calm.

"Ninety-nine percent," Cuddy answered.

"You trust the results?"

"Yes."

"All right." His tone of voice gave away nothing of how he really felt. "We'll talk about this later." He turned and left as quickly as he had arrived.

* * *

She was curled up on the couch, hugging her knees and watching the late afternoon fade into evening. Shadows gradually took over her living room but she left the lights off until the motorcycle roared up her driveway. 

A familiar knock. "The door's open," Cuddy called.

House stepped in, closed the door and locked it. He limped to the couch. Cuddy was sitting in his spot; he sat on the other side without any snarky comments about her taking up his space.

"You were disappointed with the results, weren't you?" he finally said, looking at the floor.

"A little," she lied.

"You weren't a little disappointed, Lisa."

"Do you have any idea how I felt?"

"I know exactly how you felt. When that negative sign came up you were _crushed_."

Her eyes welled up before he was finished speaking. "And what about you, Greg?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Are you happy now?" She choked out before the sobs swallowed her words.

House waited until she managed to reign in the crying a little before he answered. "Am I disappointed with the results? No, I'm not. I'd be lying if I said otherwise and you know it. But don't you think for one minute that I'm not affected by this. Don't think for a second it's easy for me to just sit here and see how devastated you are." His voice got louder, he couldn't help it. "Don't you think for one second that whether you're having my baby or not means nothing to me!"

Evening faded into night. Cuddy quietly shed her tears on one side of the couch while House sat quietly on the other side and stared through the walls. "I'm not disappointed," House spoke up when her crying got to be too much for him to bear. "But how could you even think I would be happy about it?" He got up and pulled his keys from his jacket pocket.

"Don't leave," Cuddy said, her voice one notch below pleading. She eyed the keys.

"Goodnight, Lisa." He started towards the door.

"Please don't leave."

He paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Why should I stay?" he asked without turning around.

"Because I want you to."

"That's not good enough. Not tonight."

"You want to stay, Greg."

"No. I want to go home."

"Okay, Greg, how about this..." Before House knew what was happening Cuddy had run over to the door and kicked the cane out from under his hand. It skittered across the floor, coming to a rest under the table. "I'm not letting you leave."

"Get out of my way, Lisa."

"No."

"I'm leaving."

"No, you're not."

"Move, Lisa."

"_No!_"

In a flash the keys were yanked out of his hand and thrown behind the couch. "Goddammit, Lisa, what do you think you're–"

"What now, Greg? What now? Are you going to cut me down to size with that barbed tongue of yours?" She began pushing and slapping at him in blind anger, screaming at him. "What can you say that could possibly make me feel any worse? What are you going to say now? _What is it_? _What_?"

Another hard slap nearly knocked him over. He regained his balance, just barely. She moved to hit him again. He caught her wrist and pinned her to the door. She dissolved into another wave of sobs. For a few seconds he was the only thing holding her up. He couldn't hold her anymore and they collapsed into a heap in front of the door. Cuddy continued to cry and House shed a few tears with her.


	43. Chapter 43

His biggest mistake was not realizing how much this pregnancy meant to Cuddy. Of course, he now knew, and of course, it was too late. Now there was nothing he could do but be angry at himself for being too blind and stupid to see it. Hindsight was always 20/20, and hindsight always came along a day late and a dollar short. A lot of good that did.

They leaned against the front door, her face buried in his chest, his fingers carefully and gently stroking her neck. House whispered that they needed to get up. At first, Cuddy didn't listen or didn't care. Finally she pulled herself up, then helped House to his feet and over to the couch. She curled up in a corner, hugging a throw pillow, and closed her eyes. The floor had been murder on his leg. Pain shot through down to his shin. He swallowed two Vicodin, retrieved his cane, and limped heavily to the kitchen. He brought back a glass of water and a wet paper towel. The keys were still behind the couch. They were fine. House wasn't about to leave Cuddy, not now. Not for anything. "Here, take it," he said quietly, putting the glass in her hand. After she took a drink he took the paper towel and cleaned off the mascara that had streaked down her face. Her eyes were empty. He had never seen her look so shaken and pale. He didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit.

It was all too true when she said there was nothing he could say that would make her feel any worse. There nothing he could say that would make her feel any better either, so for the moment he chose to keep his mouth shut, only talking quietly when he asked her to turn her cheek so he could clean off one last bit of makeup, encouraging her to take another sip of water. She didn't argue, didn't meet his eyes, didn't say a word as she handed back the glass. The evening was long over and he could see she just wanted some rest. He did too.

House threw away the paper towel, rinsed out the glass, and rejoined his lover on the couch. He was still wearing his motorcycle jacket and was too hot. The jacket came off, as did his sneakers. "Lisa, come here," he said, tugging at her arm. Carefully, he pulled her close and lay her down on the couch, stretching out behind her. The lights stayed one. He didn't feel like getting up again. He didn't want to disturb her, especially for some petty little reason. The once crisp raspberry-colored power suit she wore was now mashed and wrinkled, a button was missing. He would help her look for it later.

A car passed, the bass music blasting so loud the pictures shook on the wall. Annoying as hell. Idiots who think the whole world should be listening to their playlist. House ignored it and listened as Cuddy's shallow breaths slowly became the deep breaths of sleep.

* * *

Cuddy woke up in her living room, on the couch without having the slightest idea of how she got there. Her eyes stung, she felt wrung out. It took a few seconds before she could even remember what day it was. Then it all came flooding back to her–the pregnancy test, the screaming, the fighting, the crying. And she wasn't alone on the couch. 

"Hey," House greeted her, planting a kiss on her neck, stubble tugging at her exposed skin.

"Hi," she said, her voice barely audible. She was surprised she had a voice at all.

"It's been a very long night, Lisa."

"Too long. What time is it?"

"A little after eleven. You okay? How are you feeling?"

"Worn-out. Tired. Really really tired." She turned to face him.

"Like I said, it's been a long night." He gave her a small smile and was more than a little pleased to see her return it. "I hope that special day off for us is still open because we both need it."

"That we do. We're going to get it, believe me. I'm glad you're still here. I really am."

"You wouldn't let me leave, remember?"

"I kicked your cane under the table." The memories washed over her again like a waterfall and left her drenched. Screaming at him, all but begging him not to leave. Hitting and slapping at him. Completely losing control. She had never let herself lose control like that. She felt the blush of anger and shame crawl up her face. "I took your keys."

"Yes, you did. You really didn't want me to leave, did you?"

"I shouldn't have done that. For some reason I was afraid you wouldn't come back."

"Like that will ever happen. Now you know how I feel," he smirked a bit. "You didn't kick my leg, so I guess I can't complain too much. Next you would have tried to slash my tires so I decided to stay. You shouldn't handle sharp knives when you're angry."

"You stayed here for me."

"I couldn't leave you screaming and crying on the floor. Even I'm not that cruel."

"You stayed here for me, Greg."

"Hmmmm...you're right. I stayed here for you. Who else am I going to stay for? No one," he said, running his thumb across the soft skin of her cheek. "I think both of us need a good night's sleep for once. Whatever we have left to say can wait until morning. Nothing is going to change in a few hours, is it?"

"I don't think so. And I'm too tired to argue," she said, slowly getting up.

They made their way down the hall. House put his arm around her shoulder.

"I wanted to have your baby, Greg." She relaxed as he hugged her closer.

"I know, Lisa. I know you did."


	44. Chapter 44

He couldn't sleep, as usual. That bothered him a bit, but not too much. House was more than used to insomnia, and he had plenty to think about. His foot dangled over the edge of the too-small bed. The night was humid and the air hung heavy. Moonlight cast its silvery glow, making the shadows look thick and solid, separate entities all around the room.

The tables had turned. Now Cuddy needed him for support to see her through a difficult time. It was bound to happen, but he always thought it would happen later rather than sooner. While there was no doubt in his mind that she deserved that support, he was more than a little worried he wouldn't be able to provide what she needed. People didn't exactly come running to him for moral support and for very good reason. A textbook misanthrope, he very well felt that ninety-nine percent of humans and humanity were worthy of his scorn. People were boring, annoying and useless. There was only one exception to that hard and fast rule. He couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if he had been able to get out the front door, and couldn't help but feel that by being forced to stay, they both averted a disaster by the narrowest of margins.

Cuddy was sleeping next to him, the rainbow-colored Ramones shirt looked faded in the bleaching moonlight. Not draped over him so much as clinging, as if she would fall into an endless abyss if she dared let go. He wanted to get up and drink some more of her wine, but decided to wait and see if she would move and he could leave the bed without waking her up.

The wine could wait another forty-five minutes or so. Until then he would see to it that Cuddy got some good old-fashioned rest. He shifted over a bit and winced as she dug her nails into his flesh. If he tried to get up now he would be rewarded with claw marks from neck to ankles.

What if that pregnancy test had been positive?

He couldn't be any kind of father, he was smart enough to know that. And smart enough to know the child would at least have an excellent mother.

The responsibility of a child would overwhelm him. Dealing with his leg 24/7 was quite enough, thanks. He couldn't give a kid a Vicodin and expect the responsibility to disappear for a few hours. Children just don't work that way, unfortunately.

More claws as he tried to move. No wine for him that night. He endured the nails piercing his skin one more time as he turned to Cuddy, closed his eyes and drifted.

The bed was moving, dipping. The movement was careful and deliberate. Still dark, he could see the white-blue outline of Cuddy as she rose. It was all of 4am. She should be asleep. His hand clamped onto her wrist and she yelped in surprise.

"Lisa, don't get up," he said softly, watching the silvery light thread through her hair.

"I've been awake for a while and I'm not going back to sleep," she responded, whispering to keep the quiet in the quiet night, as if any more loud noises would cause some great unforseen disturbance to the morning slowly creeping up the horizon.

"Neither am I. Let's keep each other company." He found himself whispering back and saw no need to stop. He tightened his grip as he pulled her back into the bed and threw the sheet over them. Stroking her temple, he asked, "Lisa, Lisa, sneaking off in the middle of the night. Where do you think you're going? You shouldn't up at this godawful hour."

"Neither should you, Greg."

"That never stopped me before and it's not going to stop me now."

"Did you even sleep or is that a stupid question?"

"A little. Insomnia isn't contagious, boss. Why are you awake?" Still whispering, like it was an unspoken rule even to Gregory House, a rule even he couldn't bring himself to break.

"You know why."

"Yes, I suppose I do."

"I can't just forget about it, Greg."

"You can't and you won't. I hardly expect you to," he said somberly, then changed the subject. "Did a certain diagnostician star in your dreams, dear Lisa?"

"You might have. I don't remember."

"Hmmm...that's very interesting."

"What, insomnia is suddenly interesting?"

"Insomnia, unremembered dreams. You're becoming more like me everyday, Lisa. Scary, isn't it?"

"Terrifying," she snickered.

"No wonder you can't sleep. Shall we get his and her canes?"

"Only if you start wearing a suit and tie to the hospital."

"I wore a tuxedo for the fundraiser, and I even returned it on time, clean and everything. Well, almost clean. I'm sure the brandy stain will come out. Isn't that enough for you?"

"I'm overwhelmed."

"You should be. I'm sort of a human tsunami–I'll rise up from nowhere, crash down on you, overwhelm you, engulf you. You'll get lost and drown in me, and love every second of it."


	45. Chapter 45

"I was born having a bad day. I'm always testy," House said, feet up on his desk, not bothering to look up from his GameBoy. Electronic chirps and buzzes floated through his office. "Why is it such a big deal now?"

"Because you're taking it out on me," Foreman replied testily, flopping into the visitor's chair, "and I don't appreciate being your whipping boy, especially when it has nothing to do with a patient."

"Admit it, you love being my whipping boy. It makes you feel _special_."

"I never have and I never will, House. I'm not anybody's whipping boy."

"If I tell you it's because you're black, will you shut up and leave me alone?"

"It's not because I'm black. It's because you're an egotistical jackass who can't leave his personal problems at home."

"Don't hold back, Foreman. Say what you really mean."

"Why, so you can fire me?"

"No, because I want to hear what you have to say."

Foreman paused, caught off guard, then plunged head-first. "Whatever is going on between you and Cuddy, just leave it back at your apartment and don't bring it here."

"What makes you think it has anything to do with Cuddy?"

"She's the only one who can under your skin like that."

"Is that a fact? Did you come back from your near-death experience with super powers, Dr. Foreman? I'm thinking of a number between one and ten. What is it?"

"Please, can we have a serious discussion here?"

"Guess the number I'm thinking of, Dr. Demento, and I might consider it."

"If I guess it right...?"

That got House's attention. "I'll take two of your clinic hours. If you're wrong, you get two of mine." He tore of a scrap of paper, scribble on it, folded it and put it under his pencil caddy. "There's nothing going on between Cuddy and I that can't be fixed. And in case I didn't tell you before, it's none of your business what goes on between us after hours. I can't help it if she finds me so fucking irresistible. You know what they say about guys with big canes."

"It becomes my business when you take your frustrations out on me," Foreman said pointedly. "If you want to beat me over the head because I screwed up with a diagnosis or misread a chart, feel free. I don't bother you with my girlfriend troubles, you shouldn't bother me with yours."

"Are you sure I'm bothering you with my girlfriend troubles or are you just mad because I'm picking on poor little Foreman since he's feeling oh-so-vulnerable right now because he's been emasculated by his ball-busting sweetheart."

"It's Cuddy. And the number is four."

"Is that your final answer, _Eric_?"

"Yes. It's four."

House slid the scrap out from under the caddy, unfolded it and held it up for Foreman to see. A big number eight was visible from across the room. "Better luck next time. You can take my hours on Tuesday. In the meantime, get your balls out of your girlfriend's pocket. She's turning you into a wuss. The old Foreman wouldn't have _asked_ me, he would have _demanded_. When you're here, you are to be a doctor. Be a eunuch on your own time."

* * *

"Did you really call Foreman a eunuch?" Cuddy asked, exasperated. 

"Yes," House answered nonchalantly as he entered her home, carrying a sack of burgers. He smiled when he noticed Cuddy eyeing it hungrily.

"Why?"

"Because I felt like it."

"Was this a one-time thing or is that a label you plan to give all the doctors around here sooner or later?"

"Being a good doctor means expecting the unexpected," he said while watching her get two plates from the kitchen cabinet. "Foreman is a good doctor, therefore, it's part of my job to keep him on his toes."

"Do you have to insult him to do that?"

"I don't, but I do anyway," House replied, dropping a burger on a plate while Cuddy retreated back to the kitchen to get drinks. "If you want my team to be bored to death and drooling in a corner, I can arrange that. Or maybe Foreman and I could meet in your office tomorrow and I can call him a pansy-assed girly-man. Will that make it all better?"

"That's enough, Greg," she said curtly, smacking the glasses and soda down on the table. "The personal insults against your doctors, any doctors, stop right here. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, boss." He wolfed down half his meal before asking, "How are you doing today, Lisa?"

"Fine, thank you."

"Just _fine_? A woman such as yourself should be able to come up more than _fine_."

"I'm smashing. How's that?"

"Not too bad. Now why don't you tell me how you're really doing today."

"I spent most of the day thinking," she said with tiny frown she tried to hide behind her glass of soda.

"About what?"

"What could have been. What might have happened. You know what I mean."

"I believe I do," he said with a sigh. "Just let me know when you decide to stop thinking about 'what might have been' and start thinking about 'where do we go from here'. Take your time. I'll be waiting."


	46. Chapter 46

House left around ten o'clock, reaffirming his word to not personally insult his staff that Cuddy knew would last for maybe two days, racing off on his motorcycle like a man possessed. He drove that bike too damned fast. It wasn't like he was trying to run away from something so much as he was trying to leave whatever was bothering him behind. It had nothing to do with her. Well, maybe a little bit. Cuddy couldn't even begin to imagine what sort of skeletons were hiding in the closet of House's mind. He probably had a whole graveyard in there.

No effort was made to stop him from going out the door. She wanted some time alone to think and he wanted to give her the time and space. She promised to stop over when she had thought the whole situation through. He said good night and locked the door behind him.

She swallowed four extra-strength painkillers as her head began to throb and cramps gripped her belly. The pain finally began to ebb away, replaced with the killer sugar craving that hit her once a month. A pint of Death by Chocolate was hidden in the back of the freezer. The lid was torn off in a frenzy. Three-fourth's of it was gone before she was able to force herself to put the spoon down and take a breath.

The stillness and quiet of her home suddenly flooded her ears. The silence was deafening. Usually the television was on with House making his non-stop commentary about anything on the screen that happened to catch his attention: someone's lousy haircut, out-of-date clothing styles, a laughable piece of dialogue. House in his spot at the end of the sofa, his feet on the table just to see long it would take her to push them off. Passing a cup of coffee back and forth. She didn't realize how accustomed she had grown to these things, and how much she enjoyed them.

_Don't know what you got until it's gone._

_Whoa, Lisa, aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself?_

It wasn't gone. Just put on hold for the moment. She wasn't about to turn and walk away, not after all they had been through, and neither was House. That would be damned cold and cowardly and both of them deserved better. Dr. Lisa Cuddy was going to see this through to the end even if it killed her. Not that it would come to that, but she figured House would appreciate the effort, whether he noticed or not.

_So where do we go from here? Good question. Is there an answer?_

She knew there was. She just wanted to make sure she wasn't missing anything that was right in front of her face. That wouldn't do any good at all. Every last scrap was going be inspected.  
Nothing was going to be overlooked, not if she could help it.

The house was too damned quiet. She rinsed off the dishes and stuffed them into the dishwasher, and switched it on even though it was still half-empty. The hushed droning and the soapy steam from the dishwasher got on her nerves. Soon a Sarah McLachlan CD filled the living room with some pleasant noise. That was better. It was nice to hear another voice, some noise to drown out the deafening quiet.

* * *

His leg was hurting and he paced around the living room, the only sounds coming from his footsteps and the dull tap of his cane. Back and forth, over and over. He tried to occupy his mind with something else while waiting for the pills to do their job. 

Every relationship had a turning point and they had finally stumbled on to theirs. Now the only thing left to do was to see if it was for better or for worse.

The only thing House was sure about at the moment was that he did not want his relationship with Cuddy to end. She was the one person who made him feel wanted, loved and special when he thought no one would ever think anything of sort of him, not after Stacy's less-than-glorious exit. This was his last chance to have a good influence in his life, someone he really truly cared about, and he wasn't about drop it on a dime. He would fight it to the death.

Stacy. There was a name he hadn't thought of in a while. Stacy and her damned emotional baggage left unclaimed and disconnected phone number. Maybe that was the best thing for both of them, he had nothing to say to her after all these years. What would Stacy say about _him_? He didn't care anymore. Maybe he never cared to begin with. Maybe he hung on to her memory because he had nothing else to hang on to. Feeling alone and hurt was better than feeling nothing at all. There would always be few of her boxes left around, pushed back in the dark corners, hidden from view. He would just have to deal with them when he happened to trip over one. Thinking about her was just another thoroughly useless waste of time. She was gone. The end. Roll credits.

Lisa Cuddy. The thought of her brought a tiny smile.

_Lisa, Lisa, where are you going?_

_Nowhere._

_Are you really sure about that?_

_Yes. Unlike someone else..._

The knot of pain began to unravel a bit. He stretched out on his bed, sneakers still laced on his feet, and listened to the silence of his apartment. The quiet never really bothered him. It let him look through the various thoughts running around his head without distraction, catching them and making sure they were worth the effort of thinking about. If not, they were unceremoniously drop-kicked into oblivion. Good-bye.

_I was afraid you wouldn't come back._

_Now you know how I feel._

She was afraid he wouldn't come back.

Now it was her turn to feel the fear of abandonment.

Now that was something worth thinking about.


	47. Chapter 47

The next several days drifted into each other, marked only with the sound of the alarm clock to announce that a new day had in fact arrived. Everything looked distant and cloudy, wrapped in a dull grey fog that never wanted to lift. Every day was the same. There was no end in sight. Monotony reigned and Cuddy was the Queen.

Thinking of their relationship. Thinking over the consequences, if any, of the negative pregnancy test. Was that House's fault? Not hardly. Is there anything she can do about it? Not right this moment. Now was not the time to get all sullen about it now. Later, when she could shed some tears in private. Okay, fine. Next, please. Oh boy, more thinking. Cuddy was tired of thinking; then it hit her as to why–she was bored and lonely. House was right; now she knew how he felt all too well. No wonder he had nearly gone insane when she was in Des Plains. It was either go insane or die of loneliness.

_Face it, Lisa. You need him just as much as he needs you._

There were quick glimpses in the parking lot and corridor, fingers touching when a file was passed, eye contact when Cuddy gave House an order and he gave an acidic barb before limping back to his office. Those few and far between moments weren't enough. Not nearly enough. She wanted to pick up where they left off, and she knew that House was waiting for her to make that move. And she wasn't about to disappoint him.

Purple twilight reached across the sky by the time she stepped up to 221B. The sound of the piano filtered through the door; she had heard it out in the street. Several sharp, loud knocks and the music stopped, replaced by faint footsteps.

House opened the door and smiled down at her. Not smug, just pleased and satisfied. "Hello there," the diagnostician said as he held the door open for her. "Long time, no see."

"Too long." Cuddy breezed in and threw her purse on the couch. "I could use a drink."

"Follow me," he said, and turned to the kitchen. Cuddy followed, almost beating him to the liquor cabinet.

He poured a bourbon for her and a scotch for himself, then clinked the glasses before taking a long sip. "It's nice see you, Lisa. I was getting a little worried."

"Just a little?" She smiled for the first time that evening.

"Just a little tiny bit. I was going to give you until morning, then go to the police to file a missing person's report."

"Did you ever have any doubt that I wouldn't come back to see you?"

"Nope. On the off chance you didn't make it to my door it was because someone or something stopped you, not because you didn't want to be here. I'm usually not wrong about these things, but stranger things have happened."

Cuddy paused to rinse out her glass before saying, "I missed you."

"I know," he replied. There was a touch of sadness in his words. His usual smugness seemed to have been given the night off. The sincere Gregory House was making a rare appearance. Good, Cuddy had missed him too.

"I finally knew how you felt, exactly how you felt, and I didn't like it."

"No, you didn't," he said. Not teasing her, just pointing out a fact.

"You do understand that I never had any intention of leaving."

"It'll take more than a few bumps and potholes to make you go running the other way, Lisa. You're the best thing that happened to me in a long, long time and I'm not about you slip through my fingers. I like to think that you have more than a little class and integrity. "

"Me too," she said.

He smiled and took her hand. "How about it, boss? Shall we pick up where we left off?"

"That's just what I was going to say," she said with a gasp. "How did you know that?"

"I didn't, not exactly. I knew you coming here to get things on an even keel again. You took your time and made sure no stone was unturned. Otherwise you would have come early, unable to put off the inevitable, and tried to make as quick and painless as possible because that's what I _deserve_."

"Very perceptive, Greg."

"That's one of things you love so much about me."

"One of the many, many things," Cuddy slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. "You've been doing some thinking, too."

"Thinking and playing the piano," he said, rubbing the small of her back, "waiting for you to knock on the door. I had nothing else to do."

"What were you thinking about?"

"How much I hate to sleep alone."

"Any nightmares?"

"No. I've had more important things to worry about. Nightmares don't count anymore."

"I'm glad to hear that." She looked up at him. "What were you playing before I knocked on the door?"

"'Die Forelle' by Franz Liszt."

"Would you care to play it for me?"

"Sure. C'mon, I have something for you."

They walked to the piano, hand in hand, and House slid carefully into the seat. A brown paper bag was resting on the seat beside him. He picked the bag up, noticing Cuddy eyeing it, and handed it to her with a sly, knowing grin. "The perfect gift for a woman of such class and integrity. Diamonds are for commoners and shrews, this here is the stuff of legends."

He began to play as she opened the bag. She laughed, cheeks blushing with pink, and held up her perfect gift–a new Jack Daniels tee-shirt.


	48. Chapter 48

_A/N: Fluffy fluff stuff here. Enjoy!_

* * *

"Any requests from your favorite piano man, boss?" House asked even though he had barely begun to pick up with the Liszt he had playing before Cuddy arrived at the door. "I'm all yours." He looked over and smiled as Cuddy slid into the seat next to him, the tee-shirt still clutched in her hands. Woe to the person who dared try to take that shirt away from her. The bloody results would cause even the most steely of detectives to weep like a little girl. 

"Not right now. Keep playing. That's lovely." She leaned into his shoulder and swayed along with the music.

"Classical music soothes the savage beast, namely me." With his fingers gliding over the ivory keys, he asked, "Who's your favorite composer?"

"I don't really have one."

"Not even one? You could have at least said Beethoven or something along those lines. Beethoven is a good back-up answer for a question like that. And I'm not talking about the big dog in those lame movies."

"I know you're not talking about the _dog_–"

"Good," he smirked. "You had me worried there for a minute."

"I wouldn't know Beethoven if I tripped over him. All those composers sound the same to me,"she replied, as if confessing a terrible sin after the guilt became overwhelming and she let to get it out one way or another.

House narrowed his eyes, not angry, just a bit baffled. "I'm playing Liszt here, but I could be playing Tchaikovsky for you all know or care. Lisa, I'm crushed." If he was truly disappointed it had no effect on his playing. Not one sour note in the bunch. She had yet to hear him play a single one.

"I was too busy busting my ass trying to get good enough grades to be accepted at a decent med school. No, I don't know one composer from another, but I know good music when I hear it."

"Spoken like a woman who's spent too much time keeping her hospital in tip-top shape."

"That's usually expected from someone with my job. I like to think my hospital is a good place to bring sick people."

"_Hmph_, you should have clinic duty every day for a month and come back to me on that statement. Too much work and not enough appreciation of decomposing composers. Do we have a special day off yet, dear boss?"

"I haven't had a chance to look. I'll let you know in the next few days."

"You do realize I'm going to bug you to death until we do."

"Yes, Greg. I wouldn't expect any less from you."

"That's better." Cuddy could see him grinning from the corner of her eye. He suddenly stopped playing and shuffled through the sheet music until finding what he was after. "Now, how about some real music?"

"What's real music?"

"Mozart, of course. The musical equivalent of Einstein. A true genius if one ever lived. At around six years old he could play the piano blindfolded with his hands crossed over each another. That's what I call talent."

"Wow!"

"Wow is right. Here's some music from the master."

The melodies flowed effortlessly from under House's long musicians fingers; Mozart's music filled the apartment. They sat at the piano for hours, Cuddy getting up only to fetch some drinks. She returned to her spot and hugged her shirt while sipping soda and letting her lover show off his admittedly wonderful piano skills. Better to let him show in the privacy of his own apartment than in front of an unsuspecting uptight housewife bringing Junior in for a tetanus shot. She never had a chance for piano lessons as a kid, not that she was interested in such things back then. Too busy studying for exams and funneling all her energy into a career she could be proud of. House was perfectly happy being in charge of his one department. He wouldn't have her job on a silver platter.

He smoothly switched from Mozart to a jazz tune. "Any requests yet, Lisa? Anything you have to hear or else you will explode from the anticipation of hearing my brilliant music?"

"No. Just play what you want."

"You're easy to please tonight."

"I'm enjoying your music and I'm enjoying being with you. Is that such a terrible thing?"

"I'm such a awe-inspiring influence on people."

"And so modest, too."

"'Modest' would have been my middle name but thankfully my parents decided it would look weird on my birth certificate and get my ass kicked later in life." He turned his gaze over to her, eyes glittering with mischief. "Are you going to try that shirt on or what?"


	49. Chapter 49

"Of all the big shirts, you had to get this one?" Cuddy asked as she padded back to the piano. She was swimming in the Jack Daniels shirt. It stopped just below her knees and hung off one shoulder.

"You look just fine," House said with a huge grin of self-satisfaction. "Like Jennifer Beals in _Flashdance, _without the welding."

"It's huge! Both of us could fit in this thing."

"Now that's not a bad idea," he smirked, shuffling up some more sheet music.

"Why did you get one so big?"

"It was the only one they had left."

"That's a good reason."

"It's not the real reason, but I figured it was better to be too big than too small. Unless you're planning to show the board a new dress code–all oversized tee-shirts all the time–nobody else is going to see it. Wait, are you going to tell me _now_ that size me that size really matters?"

"Not when you're six-foot-three, I hope." Cuddy slid back onto the piano bench.

"It doesn't. And I have yet to hear you complain," House deadpanned as she choked on the rest of her soda. "Well, maybe every now and then when you scream out _don't stop, don't stop_, but that has nothing to do with size, does it?"

"Are you going to play the piano or are you going to sit there and crow about your manhood all night?"

"I can do both. I'm just that talented. Which would you rather hear, boss?"

"Piano. Please, just play some damn music."

"The Dean of Medicine wants music and she will get it. "

"Thank you," she sighed.

"You're welcome," he replied with a chuckle. "Any requests for the lovely lady?"

"Beethoven."

"Coming right up."

"And I don't mean the dog."

* * *

"Dr. House, do you have a minute?" Cuddy asked after tracking him down in the corridor, walking with his team back to the conference room. 

"Do I want one, Dr. Cuddy?"

"Yes, you do."

"Do I now? Why is that?"

"I bring good news." She glanced over at the younger doctors marching ahead. "For your ears only."

He paused, and the other three doctors stopped on a dime and waited for their boss. House noticed them staring expectantly. "Uncle Greg and Aunt Lisa have some grown-up things to talk about," he said, waving them away.

Cuddy waited until the underlings were out of earshot and said, "How does next Saturday sound?"

"Sound for what?"

"You, me, a little champagne and a lot of privacy."

"Throw in a Jacuzzi and you have a deal." He smiled from ear to ear, blue eyes shining.

"Neither of us has a Jacuzzi."

"Damn. Our big plan has a flaw. I guess we'll just have to have lots and lots of sex to make up for that little oversight. Have I ever told you how much I love it when you yell out my name?"

"No, that's the first time I heard about that. I take it next Saturday is fine with you."

"A pack of rabid wolverines couldn't keep me away."

"Always a romantic."

"That's why you can't get enough of me. Your place or mine, boss?"

"You have your nice big bed ready and a nice dinner in the fridge," she said, "I'll bring the champagne and the tee-shirt."

"What red-blooded American male could resist that offer?"

"Not you."

"You got that right. See you next Saturday, Dr. Cuddy."

"Next Saturday, Dr. House. Be up bright and early." She turned on her heels and said over her shoulder, "You better be prepared to yell out _my_ name. I love it when you do that."


	50. Chapter 50

_A/N: 50th Chapter! Woo-hoo! Thanks to all my wonderful readers!_

* * *

It was Thursday. House was waiting for Cuddy in her locked office. She never bothered to get the locks changed since he never stole anything and he would just find a way to pick the new lock. It wasn't worth the hassle. A barbed wire fence and guard dogs couldn't keep him out. 

"Morning, boss," he said with a Cheshire cat grin from the overstuffed chair by the door.

"I know you have a very good reason for breaking into my office..._again_."

"I don't need a reason."

"No, you don't. But if you're trying to hide from clinic duty, this is a bad place to hide."

"Thank you for the tip. Actually I just wanted to make sure our special day off was still on track."

"Unless I say otherwise, the answer is _yes_."

"Such a good boss. You really know how treat your employees so very, very well."

She settled into her chair and switched on the computer. "Now I know you don't want any kind of interruptions or postponements, so I _know _you will have all your work done by Saturday, all your clinic hours caught up for the week, all your paperwork signed, sealed, filed and delivered. And you will let me do the same."

"Say no more," he grunted, pulling himself up with his cane.

"I did a lot of shuffling to get Saturday off, Greg."

"I can imagine."

"Your work will be done or I'll call it off."

"It'll be done, Dr. Cuddy. On Saturday you can give me my blue ribbon for excellence."

Of course, time seemed to drag on endlessly like thick molasses over the North Pole in the minutes, hours and days leading up to that Saturday. Every time Cuddy turned around there seemed to be another fire she had to put out, another form she had to sign, another clinic patient of Dr. House that she had to calm down. It was a loop–fire, form, patient; over and over again. She felt trapped in _Groundhog Day._

For House, every single patient to cross his path during clinic duty was a waste of time. A cold, a sore throat, an ordinary headache. _Don't people drink hot tea and take aspirin anymore? Do they really need to drive all the way down here,_ he thought morosely as he limped back to his office. _Why is every little headache suddenly an inoperable brain tumor? These people should get a life and not take _E/R _so fucking seriously._ A case that looked halfway interesting turned out to be nothing a boatload of antibiotics couldn't fix, barely worth looking at. _There must be some kind of diabolical plot to bore me to death. Why don't people contract strange diseases like they used to?_

House knew that a watched pot never boils. However, he felt a strange compulsion to keep his eye on it to make sure it didn't boil over. One little splash on the stove wasn't going to ruin his weekend.

There were still dinners at each other's tables, nights spent in each other's beds. House had no complaints about their unorthodox relationship and habits. There was always room in his apartment and schedule for Cuddy. The only possible thing to grumble about was those fleeting hours always flew by. Blink and it's morning. Back to the hospital and bitchy housewives who think a slight fever is the end of the world. Those women had more money than God and couldn't spare a few dollars to buy themselves a clue on sale. House might have laughed if he had been compelled to spend a few seconds thinking about it. The thought floated out of his head like a leaf in a summer breeze before it had a chance to take hold.

An entire day to spend together. Finally something to look forward to, something worth waiting for. House couldn't help but grin every time he thought about it. Unlike clinic duty, it would go by too fast. Oh, well. He'd just have to bug Cuddy to death for another special day off. He was persuasive that way. It was a gift. Cuddy would label it a curse.

Friday night. About fourteen hours to go. Cuddy would be over at about 9am. The food had been delivered earlier in the evening from the best gourmet store in town: steaks, potato salad, pasta, asparagus and a huge key lime pie. A small fortune in food and worth every red cent. Great food to go along with great champagne and great company. Hell, Cuddy could be dressed in a garbage bag and bring a five dollar bottle of Wild Turkey and he wouldn't care. The evening would be reserved for dinner, the rest of day would be for satisfying their other appetites.

Cuddy stayed at the hospital to make sure everything was caught up, every conceivable loose end was tied. House _might_ understand if some unforseen, unavoidable natural disaster–the tornado scenario came to mind–were to strike. But if she was called in for a detail she overlooked, she would never, ever hear the end of it. That thought alone made her double check, then triple check her to-do list. When she was satisfied that all the files were in order, all the patients had their needs met, and all shifts were covered, she let herself look at the clock and nearly tripped when her bleary eyes saw it was midnight.

She knew she had the easier end of their deal, and smirked at the thought. But still, easy or not, she fully intended to come through with her part. The Dom Perignon was chilling in her fridge, the tee-shirt was in the dryer, and the alarm was set. Now it would be interesting to see how much or how little House came through on his part. Earlier that afternoon he had hinted about how much he "splurged". What counted as "splurging" in House's bizarre little world was anyone's guess. That could mean anything from lobsters and caviar to extra eggrolls in the Chinese takeout to saving the last Pepsi for her. She was eager to see what he had in store for her tomorrow.

Nothing to do now but hurry up and wait.


	51. Chapter 51

It was only 7:30 in the morning, but Dr. Gregory House had been up for nearly 45 minutes. He sat at the kitchen table in well-worn jeans and a plain black tee-shirt, finishing his first cup of coffee while watching ominous gray storm clouds roll by through a window that needed a good cleaning. The day promised rain, a promise it fully intended to keep. That was fine. There could be grapefruit sized hail for all he cared. He wasn't planning on going outside. He could think of one or two indoor activities that would keep his attention.

Cuddy hadn't said anything about breakfast or lunch, and House himself hadn't thought about it until the morning caffeine rush plugged his brain back in. She was in charge of the champagne. He didn't expect her to bring anything except that and the Jack Daniels shirt. There was cereal and peanut butter if she got hungry and wasn't feeling too picky. Plus he could always remind her that if she wanted a big fancy lunch, she should have said something about it days ago.

Rain began to splatter against the window as House limped back over to the kettle to refill his cup. The forecast was the same for the next three or four days–rain, rain and more rain. All the more reason to stay indoors, preferably under the covers. He glanced impatiently at the clock above the stove. Still more than hour before Cuddy was due to arrive. The lousy weather would probably slow her down. He could live with that. Better she take her time and drive carefully. She didn't need to fly down the road, lose control, and slide into a ditch. That would certainly put a damper on their day.

House resumed his place at the table and stared at the rain without really looking at it. He was feeling giddy, like a little kid who couldn't wait to rip open presents at Christmas. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this way. Wait a second...yes he could, when he was basically doing the same thing: waiting for Cuddy. It was the day he waited for Cuddy to come back from Des Plains. Sitting in his silent apartment, staring past the windows and walls, waiting to hear that knock on the door. She had brought champagne then, too.

He sipped his coffee and wondered if she had been looking forward to this Saturday as much as he had been.

* * *

"I know I'm late," Cuddy said as she scurried into the apartment, dripping wet. It was twenty minutes after nine. The rain hadn't let up. If anything, it had gotten worse over the last hour or so. "Please don't be mad at me. I got stuck behind not one, but two accidents. Traffic was backed up all over the place." 

"I'm not mad," House said with complete sincerity as he closed the front door. "But I was starting to get worried. Why didn't you call?"

"I forgot my cellphone on the dresser," she sighed, thumping the package she had been carrying onto the counter, then stalked past him to the bathroom and reappeared with a towel over her head. "By then I was past the second accident and only a few minutes from here. If I had pulled over to use a payphone, I probably would have ran into a third accident, and you would really be pissed."

"I'm not mad at you, Lisa. I knew the weather would slow you down. Perfect day for a monsoon, huh?"

"Too perfect. I couldn't have timed it better if I tried," she replied with a short laugh.

He smiled and she relaxed a little. "Care for some champagne, Dr. House?" She returned his smile as she began to rummage through the package on the counter.

"Now? Why don't we save it for dinner?"

"I brought wine for dinner."

As if to prove her point beyond a reasonable doubt, two bottles of red wine were handed to House for his inspection. Fancy labels from places he had never heard of. He didn't know squat about wine, but he knew his boss didn't pick it up on the clearance rack from the nearest convenient store.

"Can I assume we are having a dinner that is worthy of this fine wine, Greg?" She draped the towel over a chair and looked at him expectantly, hoping she could hide her disappointment if the evening meal turned out to be a delivery from a pimple-faced teenager.

He nodded at the fridge and said, "See for yourself."

She crossed over to the fridge, opened the door, and beamed brighter than the sun. "Is that key lime pie?"

"The best key lime pie this side of the Mississippi, dear Lisa."

"Those steaks must be an inch thick. Wow."

"The best steaks from the best cows. The best potato salad from the best potatoes in Idaho. The best asparagus from...wherever the hell they grow asparagus."

"I see I'm not the only one who spent too much money for today," she said. "I must say you outdid yourself, Greg."

"Surprised?"

"A little," Cuddy confessed, walking back over to the counter. "Now how about some champagne?"

He tilted his head at her. "It's not even ten in the morning yet."

"Champagne is for special occasions. Special occasions happen at all hours," she informed him while handing over the bottle. "Am I wrong in saying this is a special occasion?"

"Not at all, boss," he answered, then looked at the label. "Roederer Cristal. Fancy schmancy. This stuff must have put a dent in your wallet. Did you have to smash your piggy bank on the sidewalk for this?"

"That's a five hundred dollar bottle you're holding, so be careful." She pulled out two sparkling crystal champagne flutes and walked over to him, watching as his eyes nearly fell out of his skull. He put his arms around the bottle and cradled it like an infant.

"_What the hell_...? Jesus Christ, Lisa, you didn't have to–"

"You're right. I didn't have to. I _wanted_ to. Now open that thing up before it gets warm."

The cork popped, ricocheted off the ceiling and landed in the sink. House filled the gleaming flutes and grinned as they bubbled over.

"Ridiculously expensive booze, crystal glasses," he mused, taking one, "Be careful, Lisa, or I might come to expect this every night."

"Sounds good to me. You bring the key lime pie and I'll bring the champagne." She raised her glass. "Here's to us."


	52. Chapter 52

"To us," House echoed, then guzzled his champagne. "Damn, this stuff is _good_." He wasted no time in refilling his crystal glass to the brim.

"Take it easy," Cuddy mockingly admonished with a smile while peering over the rim of her glass.

"This stuff is _really, really good_." The truthfulness of that statement bounced off the walls. House had a found a new favorite drink.

"No need to get yourself smashed so early."

"I get smashed on scotch. I get _inebriated_ on fine champagne such as this."

"We still have the whole day ahead of us, Greg. Remember? Do you remember what today is?"

"Like I would forget _that_. Give me a little credit here, Lisa."

"I'll give you full credit when you put down your drink and remember why I came over here."

"Point taken, boss," he said, unable to keep a trace of regret from sneaking in under the radar. After a long swallow, he corked the bottle and stuffed it into the fridge. "All better now?"

"Yes." She drained her champagne and carefully set the glass out of reach on the counter so it wouldn't get knocked over.

"I'm sure we'll find something to celebrate later," the diagnostician remarked, returning his attention back to the wonderful champagne. If she really paid five hundred dollars for it, it wasn't nearly enough.

"Maybe one or two things."

"I like the way you think, Lisa," he said, then finished his drink and set the glass down next its twin; glittering like fine jewels even under the less-than-flattering kitchen lights. Thinking about how much those glasses must have cost was enough to make his fillings ache. His leg was enough of an irritating distraction, he didn't need another one. Not today.

"It's only ten o'clock, Dr. House. However shall we fill our time?"

"We could play checkers," he teased as a crooked grin played along his unshaven face. Somehow he made that innocent sentence sound positively vulgar. The salaciousness of his words made Cuddy blush. Even now he could make her feel like a teenager getting ready for her first date. A maddening itch between her shoulders and tingling in her scalp only added to that perplexing feeling.

"Oh, goody. Maybe after that we could play 'Spin the Bottle'."

As they continued their verbal foreplay, Cuddy inched her way carefully towards her lover. Though the day was dark and gloomy, House's eyes possessed a fierceness that was all but hypnotic. They glowed with a greedy intensity that cut through the dreary morning light and right down to the bone. He was the hunter and she was the prey. She could only guess at what he was thinking, at what he had planned, and if she was even half right, the thoughts made her shiver with a greedy intensity all her own.

"'Spin the Bottle' requires many participants if it's to be any fun. Right now we don't want any company crashing our private party."

"You're right about that," she smiled and brushed a well-manicured hand along his stubbly chin. Her clothes suddenly felt too warm and restrictive, even in the cool kitchen.

"It only takes two to tango, dear Lisa. Care to dance?"

"Do you have to ask?"

She pulled on his shoulders, intending to pull his mouth to hers. She was a more than a little surprised when he didn't respond, instead holding her shoulders and keeping her still.

"Is something wrong?" she frowned.

"No. Everything's fine, believe me," he assured her, his voice suddenly smooth and soothing, like warm honey dripping from a spoon. Her knees threatened to buckle before he was finished. "Before we commence with the activities, there's something I need you to know and understand." The crooked grin returned, but a strange seriousness undercut his words and got Cuddy's full undivided attention. The timing was so weird and so off-the-wall, it had to be something he was entirely serious about and wouldn't be happy until she heard it.

"What is it?" she asked, honestly puzzled. What could he possible have to say now that couldn't wait?

"Right here, right now, and for as long as you are in my apartment today," House began as his long fingers slowly moved down to the front of her blouse and began to undo the buttons,"you are not The Dean of Medicine at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. You are not my boss. You aren't even a doctor. You are my lover, in my kitchen, soon to be in my bedroom. My dear lover, standing here before me, went through a lot of trouble to arrange this very special day, therefore, I intend to make it a day she will never ever forget. Do I make myself clear, lover?" His fingers stopped and he glanced down at the progress made on the buttons, grinning at lacy white bra now showing from under soft lavender fabric of Cuddy's blouse.

The sheer thrill of anticipation and the soft brush of his fingers across her chest made her heart pound in a way that almost scared her. Her last ounce of self-control slipped away and fell with a whisper to the floor.

"Absolutely." She yanked on his shirt and this time he offered no resistance. His mouth crashed into hers, and stirred up all the furious passion and desire and lust that threatened to overwhelm her. The heat of his body mixed with hers, entwined and enveloping them until they no longer noticed or cared that the heat blazed into one fiery white-hot sun. They stumbled clumsily to the bedroom, leaving a trail of carelessly tossed clothes along the way. She wished for nothing more than to feel his rough hands all over her skin and his kisses on her lips. Her wish was granted, and soon the rest of world retreated into a gorgeous oblivion.


	53. Chapter 53

Reality began to set back in and Cuddy wasn't ready for it, so she pulled the sheet over her head and tried to block it out. She concentrated on the swirls and dots dancing behind her closed eyes, not the patter of the afternoon rain waking her up and discarding the wonderful dream state she was riding on, the large waves curling and crashing into the beach. The air had a strange mixture of scents–rain and sweat and sex and perfume. The sheets and blankets were burgundy, not her sheets.

She was convinced someone was watching her.

"I know you're awake, _lover_," drolled a husky, familiar voice. "Ready to rejoin the land of the living?"

"Do I have to?"she said as the world swam back into focus, and grinned as he pulled the sheet down and locked into her gaze. "Give me about five more hours."

The stormy day made the afternoon look like late evening, everything covered in muddy light and long shadows. It almost made her laugh to think it was still summer. It could have been November for all the lousy weather told her.

"Why, Lisa, if I didn't know any better, I'd have to say that I wore you out."

"You're an animal," she snickered. " There, I said it. Are you satisfied now?"

"Immensely. Maybe it's time to tell you that when you're sleeping with someone, you're not always sleeping. You miss out on the fun part if you're asleep. I was going to keep that a secret, but–"

"Oh, is _that_ why you're an insomniac?"

"It's as good a reason as any."

"Can't argue with that."

"No, you can't, especially when the best sex you've ever had makes your brain all fuzzy. Right, Lisa?" he said with his trademark smirk, watching her intently while riding on what was left of his own blissful waves.

"Typical male. Crowing about your manhood again."

"_You_ were crowing about it just a little while ago–"

"Greg..."

"Yelling out my name. I _love_ that–"

"Enough!"

"I hope the claw marks on my back don't leave any scars."

"I do. They'll let the world know what's mine," she said, and caught the surprise in House's eyes. She gave him a quick kiss before he could make a smart-ass comment and added, "I don't know about you, but I've certainly worked up an appetite."

"Nothing fancy for lunch, boss," he told her while watching her get up and hunt down the Jack Daniels shirt. He noted with quiet amusement that her hair was frizzed all to hell. "The pie is for dessert, not an afternoon snack."

Cuddy rounded up his jeans and shirt, tossing them at him like a softball pitcher. "Bread and water is fine with me. I just need some food."

"How about PB&J and milk? I don't have any of that crap soy fake artificial milk," he said, pulling on his jeans. From the corner of his eye he noticed she was watching his every move. He smiled and looked up. She didn't blink. "Can you handle a glass of real moo juice, boss?"

"One won't kill me," she answered, waiting with infinite patience as he grabbed his cane and limped over. "Make me a nice sandwich and I'll make sure the steaks don't burn."

"Fair trade," House said as they walked to the kitchen.

Two sandwiches each, and they ate in a friendly silence. Both were hungry and the chit-chat wasn't all that important. After a while, there were a few words here and there about trivial things: movies, co-workers, the price of gas. House found the milk moustache on Cuddy's upper lip oddly endearing. With her disheveled hair, baggy shirt and half-empty glass of milk, she looked twenty years younger. A brief scene flashed through his mind–Cuddy as teenager, giggling with her friends at sleepovers, gossiping about boys. No way of knowing that their paths would cross one day, and many days after that. Occasionally karma could be a fabulous thing.

Soon nothing but crumbs remained on the plates and the glasses were empty. Rain pounded on the windows, turning the outside world blurry. The wind whistled and the faint rumble of thunder rolled in. The perfect day to spend inside from dawn to dusk.

"Anything else, lover?"

"No, thanks. That was yummy," Cuddy said, gathering up the dishes and clumsily stacking them in the sink Her mind too preoccupied to think about rinsing them. A few dirty dishes wouldn't throw the universe into chaos.

"Peanut butter makes the world go 'round," House informed her, relaxing back into the chair while mindlessly tossing the cane from hand to hand.

"If you say so." She frowned slightly at his enigmatic statement before reclaiming her spot at the table. "Well, we still have plenty of time before dinner."

"So we do," he replied with badly feigned disinterest.

"Lots of time on our hands."

"Time is on our side."

"That's true. Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?"

Cuddy trailed crimson painted toes up and down his ankle while glaring with pure wanton lasciviousness. "Round two. What else?"


	54. Chapter 54

_A/N: 400+ reviews and 80,000+ hits. Thanks everyone! You guys rock!_

* * *

Dr. House, head-over-heels in love. It was almost too insane to contemplate, but here was the proof right here in the flesh. The thought almost made Cuddy giggle and she bit her lip to hold it back. 

To say House is a little rough around the edges is like saying Kansas gets a few tornadoes every spring. The man has an infinite number of quirks and layers to his personality; Cuddy was sure there weren't enough years in her lifetime to find even half of them. She suspected that if House had to do it all over again, he wouldn't change his feelings towards people in general. Everybody lies, even him, even her. Maybe that is more true than she thinks. But she knows, doesn't _think_, that even House has his wants and needs and desires like every other human being. The need to be alone finally lost its appeal, if it ever really had any. Not that he was broadcasting that nugget of information for everyone in New Jersey to hear. If anyone else could see him now, with the look of pure love and adoration has he pulled the Jack Daniels shirt over her head, they would be convinced they had the wrong person.

Who is this man, the one who pulls her into sweet, deep, astonishing kisses that leave them both gasping for air. Who is the man whose calloused hands gently explore every inch of her body, making her shiver as if a snowstorm was swirling around the room, even though he knew it all by heart. The man who laughed when one of her curls comes loose and tickled his nose, that can't be Gregory House. Oh, but it is. This was what House could be if someone took the time and didn't mind the scratches to look and feel beyond the prickly surface. Cuddy could live with the scratches. They would heal. She found what she wanted and House was more than willing to give all she could handle.

Most people probably wouldn't believe it. To hell with them and everyone else.

They tangled in each other's limbs, scratched each other's skin, moaned each other's names in breathless gasps between drizzling kisses. The rest of the world was left behind, the only things she was concious of in the whirlwind of her senses were the sweat and heat and the beard scraping her neck and someone calling her name and realizing it was the man with his long arms wrapped around her back. The man she loved more than anything. The man who drove her crazy, made her scream, cry, laugh, smile. The man who loved her. The man she wanted to spend the rest of forever with.

The storm still wanted to let the world know it was still there as it slapped more rain against the building. A dark grey murkiness hung around the bedroom, but that had no effect on Cuddy's grand mood. This day had been exactly what they both needed; a day away from the rest of universe, inhabiting one of their own. Away from the pressures, disappointments, and anxieties of the world outside of 221B. She knew it would be a long time before they could do something like this again, a pity. It would be worth the wait. She would make damn sure of that.

House was stretched out the length of the bed, dozing his way through an after-sex catnap. He was on his left side, facing her, long lashes resting against his cheeks. The scar was well hidden under the now-rumpled and twisted burgundy sheets. So be it. This day was about them, not scars that are all too real or just exist in the mind. Regardless, the scars would still be there tomorrow so they could wait until then.

With the lousy weather and waning afternoon came a drop in temperature, sending gooseflesh out in full force. She carefully slid out of bed and gave silent thanks that the murky light was enough to let her navigate around the bed without crashing into it. After her favorite shirt was back on, she dug for a pair of sweatpants and found some with a drawstring waist. They were still about a dozen sizes too big and nine inches too long, but with a little rolling at the ankles and tightening of the drawstring, they were nice and loose and comfortable.

"I should have you arrested for stealing, boss."

Cuddy's head jerked up as House switched on the bedside lamp and reached for his pills.

"I'm not stealing, I'm just borrowing." She padded over and settled at the edge of the bed.

"_Hmph_," he smirked, dry-swallowed one of the white tablets, and tried to rub away the lingering sleepiness from his eyes. "That's what they all say. Next you'll be trying to convince me that you were framed by _The Man_."

"I'm not being framed and I'm not guilty of anything. If you're sweatpants aren't in the hamper tomorrow I'll buy you a dozen new pairs."

"I'm holding you to that."

"I know you are. That's why your sweatpants will be in the hamper tomorrow." The pill bottle caught her attention. A touch of concern clouded over her eyes and spilled out into her voice. "Is your leg okay?"

"It's fine, just bitching a little since it's had more, um..._exercise_ over the last several hours than it's had all year."

"Are you sure? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Absolutely, positively not. Even if I was lying screaming bloody murder, it would have been worth every second. I'm fine and dandy, Lisa, except for the claw marks all over my back."

"Just marking my territory," she replied with a smirk of her own. The clouds retreated from eyes, letting the full blue out once again.

"People will look at them and think I wrestled with a mountain lion. They'll be whispering behind my back about what a weirdo I am. Thanks a lot."

"You're quite welcome. The day you really, truly care about what other people think is the day–"

"Is the day I buy penny loafers and a mini-van." House laughed and glanced at the alarm clock. "Still a little early for dinner, and if you don't mind I'd like to save Round Three until after dessert."

"Yes, both of us could use a break."

"Wanna play some checkers, boss?"

"Would you play me some requests on the piano first?"

"Toss me over a nice clean shirt and some sweatpants and I'll think about it."


	55. Chapter 55

_A/N: Some nice fluffy fluff here. Bon Appetit._

* * *

"What'll be today, boss?" House asked as Cuddy reappeared from the kitchen with two glasses champagne. "Classical or contemporary? Jazz or Blues? Or maybe some good old fashioned Rock 'n' Roll? It's only Rock 'n' Roll but I really really like it."

"Do you know 'As Time Goes By'?" she requested more out of curiosity than the desire to hear it. The only sheet music in front of him was Beethoven. Cuddy wanted to get at least an inkling of how many songs were locked away in his head.

"_Do I_? _Do I_?" the diagnostician replied with an extra-large dose of his patented hokey dismay. "Does the pope wear a funny hat?"

"Yup, and I heard he's Catholic, too."

"Does a bear...ah, nevermind. Lisa, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were underestimating my piano skills."

"I'm not underestimating you or you're skills in the least," she said, sliding onto the bench. "Yes, Greg, you are an excellent pianist–"

"Why, thank you."

"You're welcome. But it wouldn't kill you to show some modesty for once in your life."

"Do you actually expect me to?"

"Stranger things have happened."

"Modesty is for spineless metrosexuals and pussies. If you're not underestimating me, what exactly are you doing, besides complimenting my _wonderful_ piano playing?"

"I'm just...let's see...just testing your limits."

"Hmm...that's different," he mused, picking up the glass. "What kind of limits are we talking about here? My musical limits or my _manly_ limits? I'd have to say musical since you're not screaming out my name in wild ecstasy at the moment. Are you waiting for me to play the piano with my toes or something?" He sipped his drink and waited, drumming his fingers and humming the _Jeopardy_ theme song just to irritate the hell out of her.

She didn't bite. "So far you've been able to play just about everything I've requested," she explained while House's expression shifted into neutral. "Are there any songs you _don't_ know?"

"Of course. You just haven't requested them yet." He set his glass down and began to hit random black keys, the notes fluttering through the air like wisps of smoke. "Many moons ago I took my piano playing very seriously and learned as many songs as I could cram into my pretty little head."

"So why did you give it up? Why did you become a doctor instead?"

"Chicks dig doctors more than piano men," he chuckled. "And in case you haven't noticed I didn't give up the piano. Who do you like better, Lisa, Greg House the doctor or Greg House the piano man?"

She rested her chin on his shoulder and said, "I like them both equally."

"Equally, huh? That's so _you_. Always fair and polite to very end. Choose one, Lisa, you're not going to hurt my feelings. I just want to know which one you like better."

"I can't choose."

"For crying out loud, _just pick one_!"

"I _can't_!"

"Sure you can. You pick one or the other. How easy is that?"

"Okay, how about this," Cuddy said, suddenly straightening up. "I like Greg House the doctor, I like Greg House the piano man, and I love Greg House, period. How does that sound?"

"I like that," House said with a gleaming smile, "I'll even go so far as to say I love it. But you still haven't chosen."

Cuddy smiled back. "I'm not going to. I want to play my request. Why are you talking instead of playing?"

"I want to play but you won't let me. Your talking is keeping me from playing."

Her gaze alternated between his eyes and the eighty-eight keys. "Or have we found a song you don't know? Is that the horrible secret you're trying to keep, Dr. House?"

"You underestimate me, Lisa." House turned back to the keys and began to play 'As Time Goes By', every last note was perfect and in tune, as if the music was burned into his memory and would never fade.


	56. Chapter 56

"One game of checkers first," House said, after Cuddy expressed a desire to get the steaks broiling.

"I'm hungry!" Cuddy scowled. She couldn't believe how much House had gone all-out for dinner. There had to be an acre of steaks in there. How could he be putting that off? "We can't just let all that wonderful food sit there."

"We're not."

"We're not? What do you call this? Playing checkers does not equal eating a nice meal. Do you call it broiling some steaks because I sure as hell don't. I call it settling a petty grudge."

"You know me so well, Lisa," he said with a crooked grin and a wink.

"That's not always a good thing. Can't we settled this petty grudge after dinner?"

"Grudge, game, by any other name it's still checkers. One game, then we eat, and I'll even serve dessert. If you want half the pie, you'll get it."

"How kind of you," Cuddy grumbled and plopped down at the table. "Can I be red this time?" she asked with a coquettish tilt of her head. If she had to suffer through this she may as well try to make it worth her while.

"If the boss wants to be red, she shall be red." He opened the box and passed her the red pieces. The board was set into the center of the table, then they began to arrange the black and red circles onto the squares. "Red because you're out for my blood. Tell me I'm wrong."

"I'm not telling you anything." Peering over the board, she couldn't help but ask, "What does the winner get?"

"The thrill of victory," House said with a mischievous grin, then spun a black piece on the table like a top. "It's not whether you win or lose and all that crap. I've always believed that if you don't play to win, you have no business playing to begin with. Nobody goes to the Olympics with the dream of bringing home a silver medal. You go for the gold or you stay home. If you bring home the silver that's because there was another athlete who wanted the gold more."

"I have to say there is some truth in that."

"Or the French judges were corrupt."

"That, too."

"Do you want another shirt? No more tee-shirts for you, boss, unless you want me at the hospital naked. Now _that_ would be interesting..."

"Both of us want something else besides a tee-shirt and seeing you naked in public."

"Really? If it's not me naked, then what is it?"

"It's more than the thrill of victory, but you already know that."

"Damn, Lisa," he said, his blue eyes blazing. "You want to do it right here on the table? Then we'll never get to eat. If you insist, just be gentle. You know, my leg on this hard surface and all. I can only hope the table will support our weight. The sofa might be more comfortable–"

"This isn't about victory or sex. This is about bragging rights. If I win I want a dozen red roses and a box of Godivas hand-delivered to my office by you."

"Hmmm...the good doctor lays down the law. You're not just after my blood or my body anymore, you're after my _pride_."

"Well, if your pride is so delicate–"

"You're worth bruising my precious pride over. Just a little bruising, you understand. I can handle that."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Can you?"

"Damn right I can."

"That's not what I meant," House smirked. The black circles were neatly arranged on the board. "If I win I want a dozen red roses and a box of Godivas hand-delivered to my office by _you_, in front of Wilson, Chase, Foreman and Cameron. I'm not the only person with precious pride sitting at this table."

"Why do you get the audience?"

"I'm so _special, _that's why."

"I get an audience, too, if I win. It's only fair."

"As long as Vogler isn't there. And that one red-headed maternity nurse. She creeps me out."

"You're on, Dr. House."

"That's what I thought," he replied salaciously. "Ladies first, boss."

Cuddy set a finger with a crimson painted nail on a red circle and moved it up a square. "The war begins."


	57. Chapter 57

"How much longer?" House whined from the table. Afternoon had drained into evening. Outside, the storm continued, leaving the world every shade of grey.

"You said you wanted your steak well done," Cuddy replied, opening the cupboard and retrieving two glasses. "Unless you want your steak to moo while you eat it, I suggest you wait and let it cook."

"It's not Ossobuco, for crying out loud. How long does it take to broil a damn slab of meat?"

"Do you want some wine with your whine?" she snickered, handing him a bottle and the glasses. "Here, do something useful to pass the next ten minutes. Do you have any steak sauce?"

"In the cupboard, above the toaster." Filling his glass, he added, "Be nice or I'll revoke your pie privileges."

Cuddy turned from the cupboard with a wicked grin. "_You_ be nice or these clothes stay on for the rest of the night. Do you get my meaning?"

"Loud and clear, boss."

"I thought so," she said, bringing the A1 Sauce to the table, then paused to pick up her wine glass. "Can you handle Round Three?"

"The question is, can you?"

" Touché. Why do you only listen to me about matters concerning sex? Selective hearing?"

"In a way. It's the only thing worth listening to," he deadpanned. "I enjoy getting laid as much as the next guy. And judging from the rather impressive display of bedroom gymnastics this afternoon, so do you."

"You weren't too bad, either," she remarked, matching his deadpan tone.

"Thank you. I loved it when you called me 'Master'."

The glass nearly slipped out of her hand, eyes as big as hubcaps. "Did I really say that?" she gasped.

"No. But you can. Really, I won't mind at all, _Mistress_."

With a roll of her beautiful blue eyes, Cuddy laughed quietly and got the potato salad and plates out for House while she the asparagus on the stove and steaks out of the oven. The delicious smell filled the kitchen, making her mouth salivate shamelessly. She glanced over to see House all but foaming at the mouth. Five minutes later, Texas-sized steaks and fresh green asparagus spears joined the potato salad. House drowned his plate in steak sauce, then handed her what was left of the bottle.

"Have a little steak with your sauce," she said, eyes narrowing at the lake surrounding his meal.

"It's the best part." He began to hack away at it, bringing to Cuddy's mind images of sharks at a feeding frenzy. "A steak isn't worth eating unless it has the yummy sauce. It would be like eating a cake without frosting."

"Or cookies without milk."

"Exactly. That's one thing I love about you, Lisa, you catch on so _quick_."

She couldn't think of a witty rejoinder, so she just settled for smiling and digging into her dinner. She couldn't remember the last time she enjoyed a rainy afternoon so much, or had seen House relax and enjoy himself the way he was now. Of course, great sex always put him in a grand mood. Damn, they were definitely going to have another special day off. It wouldn't happen for weeks or even months, but judging from last few hours it would be worth every second of the wait.

House speared a stalk of asparagus and suddenly spoke up, "I want a rematch."

"Why?" Cuddy smirked and made sure he saw it. His slight scowl filled her heart with joy. "So you can lose again?"

"I'll win this time. Just wait and see."

"That's what you said last time before I kicked your sorry ass all over the board. In record time, too, I might add."

"_Hmph_. That was just a warm-up. I'll win this time."

"A rematch it is. Even if you do win, you're still delivering my roses and Godivas, and serving dessert."

"I never said I wasn't, boss," he said and went back to slaughtering the steak. "Are flower shops open on Sunday? I don't think they are, unless you don't mind roses from a drug store."

"Hell no! I want _real_ roses in a _real_ fancy vase. Preferably a crystal vase. And the biggest box of Godivas you can find."

"Whatever the boss wants, the boss shall get. You might have to wait until Monday for your goodies. You of all people should know that patience is a virtue."

"Monday by noon."

"The perfect way to start a Monday," he mused and chuckled. "Do I even have to ask who the audience is going to be?"

"Nope."

"That's what I thought. Just do me a little favor and don't them what it's about. One of them might be smart enough to bring a camera."


	58. Chapter 58

A red checker skipped over two black checkers and landed at the top of the board. "King me!" Cuddy cried, her glowing triumph echoed across the room and bounced back, ringing through House's ears.

He sighed in defeat and his eyes wandered over to the mound of black checkers Cuddy had piled by her elbow. Another day, another annihilation. All the more reason for her to gloat when he delivered her war trophies. Hell, she had more than earned them. Hopefully she wouldn't yap to everyone _how_ she earned them.

"Did you take some secret advanced checkers class?" House asked, almost serious. This was the third time she had effortlessly massacred him and his game on the sixty-four squares. "Where did you learn to play like that?"

"In playing against someone like you, I have to think like you," she answered. "I know you'll try every trick in the book and invent a few new ones, so I made sure to be ready for them."

"Wait a second...you're saying you beat me by playing like me?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying." Her eyes sparkled like a sunset across the ripples of the ocean.

House couldn't suppress the chuckle and ear to ear grin that answer brought out. "Lisa, Lisa, Lisa. You sneaky little wench. You're becoming more and more like me every day. Tell me, how does that feel?"

"Right now it feels fabulous. I think this latest victory has earned me a dozen more roses."

"A dozen more roses you shall get. Would you like another pound of chocolates too?" House began to gather up the checker and put them in the box.

"No thank you. Roses don't have calories."

"Key lime pie does," he said, the grin turning mischievous. The board was set in the box, covered, and set aside. "Don't read nutrition label, you might faint."

"I'm sure I can find a way to work it off."

"Well said. Would you like some dessert now?"

"I'll take a piece of pie now. The real dessert can wait until later."

* * *

"Wow, that was _rich_," Cuddy gasped as she finished her pie. A few errant crumbs remained scattered on the plate. "And _good_. That was the best pie I've ever had."

House set about polishing off the few bites that lingered on his plate. "It's too bad those gourmet yahoos feel the need to quadruple the price of a ten dollar pie to justify their existence."

"What about the overpriced champagne?"

"You bought it, not me. If you insist on bringing diamond-studded ridiculously expensive fizzy fermented grape juice over to my apartment for me to guzzle like water, who am I to stand in your way?"

_Indeed_, Cuddy thought. There was something else she had to know. "If you don't mind me asking, how much did the pie cost?"

"Forty-five dollars, plus tax of course."

"Was it worth it?"

"Watching you wolf it down like it was going out of style, I'd have to say yes."

"What about you?" Cuddy inquired with a tilt of her head. "What did you think about it?"

"If you must know it was a little too tart for my taste," he said with complete honesty. "Then again, I bought the pie for you, not me. You liked it, therefore, it was money well spent."

"How high of a price were you willing to go?"

"As high as it took. As it turned out, that was the most expensive key lime pie they had. They had some kind of chocolate cream pie for about seventy dollars, but it would have put us both in a chocolately-smooth coma."

"That probably would have been way too rich. The key lime was wonderful. I'll trade you the champagne for the pie."

"Five hundred dollars worth of fizz for real graham cracker crust? Are you sure about that?"

"You like the champagne, I like the pie. It's a win-win situation."

"I can't argue with your brilliant logic. Just leave me a slice, if you would be so kind."

"You said you didn't like it."

"I said it was a little tart, not completely inedible. A little slice, pretty pretty please."

"I will."

"Pie today, Godivas tomorrow. Are those nicely toned legs of yours hollow, Lisa?"

"I'm not going to eat them all at once," she said, gathering their plates and stacking them in the sink. The dinner dishes, still covered in steak sauce, were still there. They could stay there. Why House hadn't broke down and bought a dishwasher was an unsolved mystery. "But I know what I'm going to have for dessert for the next week or so. How about some coffee?"

"Sure."

Cuddy turned the heat on under the kettle, then resumed her place at the table. She waited until he looked up, reached across and took his hand in hers. He turned to face her, rested his chin in his other hand, a strange mixture of amusement, pleasure, and questioning played into his crooked smile.

"Yes, Lisa?"

"Thank you for dinner."

"You're welcome. Thank you for playing chef."

"You're quite welcome. I'm glad we got to spend this day together," she said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "Just you and me."

"It was a good idea," he said. "Lousy weather and all."

"It was a very good idea, Greg."

"You should listen to me more often."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Please do," House grinned, entwining his fingers around hers like puzzle pieces. "But don't quit now. The day isn't over yet."


	59. Chapter 59

_A/N: Well folks, I think the story has run its course. The next two chapters will be the last. Thanks to all my readers and reviewers. You guys are the best!_

* * *

The day-long indulgence of good booze, good food, good sex and good company had put House on Cloud Nine. He and Cuddy were back at the piano. He gave her in impromptu piano lesson, teaching her a few short verses, or at least tried to teach her. She just couldn't get the hang of it and declared that the music should be left to the musician before going to the kitchen for another slice of pie. 

The evening was still young, but House found himself glancing at the clock with a twinge of regret. All good things had to come to an end, always too soon. Tomorrow it was back to screaming brats, patients with room temperature IQs, clinic duty, the works. He stole a look at Cuddy, who was flipping through the sheet music with one hand and holding a fork-full of the overpriced dessert with the other. Without a doubt they were going to have another one of these special days. Maybe, with more than a little good old-fashioned nagging, he could convince her to make it an entire weekend.

"Anything catch your eye there, boss?" he asked while tapping out 'Mary Had a Little Lamb' on the keys.

"I'm still looking."

"You can't read music. Just what are you looking for?"

"A name that I'm familiar with. Here, would you play this?" She put some shuffled pieces of sheet music in front of him. He could see the name Mozart on them.

"More Mozart, huh? Child's play," he muttered. "Watch and learn."

Classical music filled the apartment, notes floating through the air like feathers on a soft ocean breeze. The only thing he enjoyed more than playing the piano was playing the piano for her. He would play for her as long as she would listen.

Night had fallen, the days getting shorter as last remnants of summer crept their way across the calender. Steady rain continued to patter all around. Cuddy didn't notice, she was too busy watch her lover's fingers effortlessly glide across the ivory keys, every note perfect. House didn't notice, didn't glance up to check the time, nothing else existed except for him, Cuddy and the music. The perfect world. An annoying little voice in the back of his mind kept reminding him that eventually he would have to leave that world and come back to reality. _I'll come back to reality when I'm damn good and ready_, he thought, _until then I'm going to enjoy every last second of this day_, and kicked the annoying voice good and hard to make it shut up.

The inevitable came around, much to his chagrin. It was getting late. Both of them had long hours waiting tomorrow. Sheet music was put away. Dishes were washed and stacked. They covered each other with kisses and got tangled in each others naked limbs, their sweat and heat mixing and binding. Outside the night didn't seem to change. House didn't want anything to change. House wished the day and night could have lasted a little longer.

* * *

"Did I grow a set of horns or something? Why are you staring at me?" House scowled as he unlocked his office, a perplexed Wilson following in his wake. 

"You..." the oncologist trailed off, his brow knitted in confusion.

"_What?_" House asked, exasperated, tossing his knapsack on the desk. "What about me? What are you looking at?"

Wilson grinned. "You're...different."

"How? As far as I can tell I'm the same forty-something limping white guy I was yesterday."

"You're _glowing_. Ah-ha, I get it now. You and Cuddy took the same day off. Interesting. I take it you two didn't spend the last twenty-four hours tatting doilies."

"Oh, we doilied all right, if you get my meaning. What's the matter, Wilson? Are you jealous?"

"A little," Wilson sighed. "Last night Julie had a headache..._again_."

House flopped into his chair and leaned back. "Jimmy, you do realize that you're a _doctor_ and doctors can get pills for headaches."

"There aren't any pills for wives who can't just come out and say they're not in the mood," the younger doctor frowned and sat down.

"Poor little Jimmy. All those marriages and you still can't get laid."

"I'll bring her some extra-strength migraine meds. Unless she comes home missing a limb or riddled with silver bullets tonight she's not going to have any excuses."

"You're so clever," House said. "It's almost a shame I had to give you the idea."

"I'm too sexually frustrated to think."

"Yes, I noticed."

"If you ever decide you're just plain tired of sex, House, get married. I can personally guarantee that you will never get any ever again."

"I'll be sure to write that down." The diagnostician twirled his cane like a baton. "Maybe you should let Julie beat you at a game of checkers. It worked for me."


	60. Chapter 60

_A/N: Wow, after a little over 7 months, 48,000 words, 450+ reviews and 60 chapters, it's finally come to an end. -sob- Thanks again, everyone! Nobody couldn't ask for a better audience._

* * *

"Need some help?" Wilson asked, casting a puzzled glimpse at the enormous crystal vase stuffed with crimson roses that House was struggling maintain a grip on, all the while keeping his now bulky knapsack from slipping off his shoulder. 

"That depends on your definition of 'help'," House replied as the silky petals tickled his chin. "Did your patients take the day off? What are you doing out here?"

"Cuddy has some kind of bizarre psuedo-staff meeting going on in her office," Wilson told him. "She sent me out here to look for you. Now I can see why." The oncologist's puzzlement melted into amusement. "It's not Valentine's Day or her birthday. Is this that checkers thing you were talking about yesterday?"

"You bet. I let her win the last two games."

"And this is your punishment?"

"I've already collected my reward. As far as punishments go, this is the equivalent to the Spanish Inquisition's Adjustable Bed. By the way, Wilson, if you tell Cuddy I let her win I'm going to make you the newest member of the Vienna Boys Choir. "

"My lips are sealed," he said, stealing another glance. "You're not bothered at all by this?"

"Maybe a tiny bit. My precious ego will get over it. Have you let Julie beat you at checkers yet?"

"I couldn't find the set," Wilson scowled. "I'll have to stop on the way home and buy a new one."

"You do that," House grinned. "C'mon, let's get this over with. These roses are heavier than they look."

Wilson held the door open. House entered and was greeted with the staring, gaping eyes of a handful of hospital personnel. His underlings were seated on one of the real leather sofas; of course, he expected them to be there. That was a given. There were a few nurses, a janitor, and one or two hospital volunteers. They were all enjoying the show.

"Good morning, Dr. House," Cuddy beamed. The queen on her throne.

"Good morning, boss." House smiled in return and glanced around the office. "Is this all? I figured you'd drag a few of the self-important surgeons in here, at least. Look, not even one measly brain surgeon in the mix. I'm disappointed."

"I'm not going to make my surgeons bump their scheduled, and unscheduled, life-saving surgeries for five minutes worth of regalement."

"Even if said regalement comes at my expense?" House raised an eyebrow.

"The nice woman who is finally getting a new kidney after waiting for two years might have something to say about it. Patients come first here at Princeton-Plainsboro."

"Even _my_ patients?"

"_All_ patients. Your patients are stable and recovering. My point is that our enthrallment at your expense will always come a distant second, Dr. House, no matter how enjoyable it may be."

From the corner of his eye, House could see Foreman and Cameron trying their damndest not to burst out laughing. Chase just sat there with an odd look of satisfaction. "_Hmph_, I'm worth a ten minute break in the surgery schedule. Just knock the patients out and get those sorry surgeon asses in here."

"Not today," Cuddy said, still smiling. "Are there two dozen roses in that vase?"

"Yes, ma'am," House answered, limping to her desk. "Count them if you don't believe me."

"I believe you. These roses are lovely. Is that a crystal vase?"

"The finest crystal vase in New Jersey. At least that's what the guy on the street selling crystal vases and Rolexes told me." He set flowers on her desk, temporarily blocking her from view. The sweet scent of the roses soon wrapped around them like a cloak.

"Red roses, my favorite," she said quietly, forgetting about the other people in the room.

"Just what you asked for, boss."

"Not quite." Her head snapped up. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Are you referring to something in a gold box?"

"Of course."

"Patience, Dr. Cuddy, patience." He held up a hand, hearing Wilson and the janitor giggling behind him. "I only have two hands and one of them uses this here cane to keep me vertical." His free hand reached into his knapsack and pulled out a ridiculously huge gold box. Cuddy's breath caught at the sight of it. "One hundred and forty pieces of sinfully delicious yummies. I trust they will go down well with the leftover pie." It dropped on her desk with a thick, heavy thump.

"I had no idea Godiva made a box this big," she gasped.

"Now you do."

"Yes, I do," The Dean of Medicine looked over all the smiling, smirking faces. "Okay, the show's over. Back to healing the sick." She waved them off. They turned to the door like school kids practicing a fire drill.

House watched his snickering underlings file out the door. When they were alone, he turned back to his boss. "I delivered, _lover_."

"I never had a doubt," she replied.

"Really?"

"Well, maybe a _little_ one."

House chuckled softly. "How about I swing by your place tonight and erase any lingering doubts."

"Please do, Dr. House."

"Is there any pie left?"

"Yes."

"Save me a piece," he said, then turned and limped to the door.

– The End.


End file.
